


Secrets Kept

by Brinchestiel, mrshays



Series: Secrets Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Death, Discrimination, Domestic Violence, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Homelessness, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Character Death, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Kid Fic, Loss, M/M, Pockets of Happiness, Postpartum Depression, References to Illness, Religion, Sexist Language, Single Parents, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Whump, child character death, church, everyone is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-03 00:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 43,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16797406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brinchestiel/pseuds/Brinchestiel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrshays/pseuds/mrshays
Summary: Valerie Krushnic wasn’t always a hollowed-out shell, a brittle bone seconds from breaking. There was a time when she was admired for her fire, her kindness, nervous but strong. Chuck Shurley loved her the moment he saw her. But how can you plan for loss, how can life possibly go on after you’ve buried your first child?Secrets Kept is a prequel to Brinchestiel’s DCBB 2018 submission,In Secret Places, and explores the consequences of early childhood death and the ways in which we cope with loss.





	1. Valerie

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [In Secret Places](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16317941) by [Brinchestiel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brinchestiel/pseuds/Brinchestiel). 



> I would like to take a moment to thank my friends and husband for their support and feedback while Brinchestiel and I were writing this fic. This started as a crackfic timestamp about Chuck and morphed into the novel you are about to read. Please stick with it. I encourage your feedback and ideas and thank you for reading. 
> 
> I also want to give special recognition to my co-author and friend, Brinchestiel. Thank you for indulging my harebrained idea to complete NaNoWriMo 2018. We didn't make it to 50k, but some stories just don't need it. Thank you for your endless support and late nights, all those times we promised to take a break, only to find each other in the draft 45 minutes later. You're the best writing partner anyone could ask for. Thank you for letting me borrow your characters and help shape their paths. It's been an honor.  
> -[mrs.hays](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/mrshays)
> 
> So, while we were plugging away at In Secret Places, this crazy gal sent me Regarding Chuck. It was a short, heartbreaking piece; though she calls it Crackfic, I would call it a damn work of art. I was so amazed at her vision, her ideas for what actually happened with Valerie and Chuck and Castiel's brothers, I told her she was, under no circumstances, to stop writing this story. She knew Valerie, saw her just as I saw her, which is a rare gift, but, thinking about it, not all that surprising, we have exactly the same brain. 
> 
> Over this whole adventure, DCBB and Nanowrimo, MrsHays has solidified herself as one of my closest friends, and I honestly don't know where I would be without her. We both sincerely hope you enjoy this story, and would appreciate any feedback you might have for us! All our love x  
> -[Brinchestiel](http://brinchestiel.tumblr.com/)

Valerie Krushnic dropped the first and only rose on her mother’s casket, a simple wooden box sat deep within the earth. She closed her eyes on the image before her, white on pine, and tucked her chin against her chest. Chuck, her boyfriend of two weeks, came to wrap his arms around her and she leaned into his embrace. He kissed her hair, done up in a beautiful knot her mother had taught her when she was a girl. Valerie wore her mother’s pearls, a double strand that Chuck had helped her clasp that morning when her hands shook too hard to do it herself. She felt unmoored. Drifting through the day as Chuck led her from her dorm room to her house, the funeral parlor, and the graveside. They still had to make it to a dinner that her floormates had put together. Valerie felt like she might never eat again.

Natalya Krushnic had been her savior, a noble woman with proud cheekbones who, at the end of her life, carried her grey hair and wrinkles with grace. She loved ballroom dancing and thunderstorms, took Valerie to church every single Sunday without fail. They fled their little Oregon home, fled Valerie’s father, a stern American man who was never caught dead in anything but a three-piece suit. Who never told his daughter that he loved her, but would sit and criticize her from his chair, stuffed in the corner by the radio. He didn’t let Natalya work, and she was far too proud to be kept as a housewife. She knew her place and did not need anyone, especially a man, to tell her. She packed her five-year-old daughter and fled for Wisconsin, where her sister took them in until Natalya landed a receptionist job at Lindsay, Stone and Briggs Inc, working her way gradually up the marketing ladder to become one of the most feared and respected women in the company.

When Valerie turned six, Natalya was able to get them a small apartment. She collected furniture from yard sales and thrift stores, built the apartment into a home over the next three years. Valerie flourished in school, paid attention, was always picked as a class helper; her teachers loved her.

Once she hit high school, Valerie and her mother had moved into a small two-bedroom house at the edge of Madison. The commute for her mother was less, and while Valerie was loathe to leave her middle school friends behind, she made sure to write to them as often as she could. Ten-page letters with doodles in the margins.

Valerie joined the high school newspaper, made quite a reputation for herself and landed a scholarship to UW - Madison. Her mother did not cry when Valerie chose to live in the dorms. She drove her daughter, the car full of boxes, which she helped ferry to her room, before pulling Valerie into a stiff hug, one of the only ones Valerie ever remembered.

“Show them your strength, Valetchka,” she said, bony hands framing her daughter’s face, “never let them see you cry. Your tears are for you.”

Valerie went months at a time without seeing her mother, even though they lived close; they kept in touch by letter, Natalya’s hand pressed into the finest paper, envelopes sealed in wax like she was from another century. They saw one another a few times a year for birthdays and holidays, though Valerie often spent her breaks with friends. And though Natalya never said the words aloud, Valerie knew she’d done her mother proud.

Junior year, and writing for _The Badger Herald_ , Valerie met a cardigan-wearing graduate assistant by the name of Chuck. She was pretty sure she terrified him, though they were drawn to one another instantly. He was gentle, older by a few years, not like the _boys_ in her course who she knew, were unable to handle her at her best, let alone her fiery worst. She could eat them for breakfast.

Not Chuck though. Chuck knew her worth, didn’t dare gamble her away for a wink and a flimsy skirt at the student bar. He dressed up for her, took her for dates to the theatre, plays, and shows, took her to shabby diners where the food was _real_. He knew what he had, and he cherished her from the moment she kissed him in the copier room, the smell of warm, fresh ink and his cheap shampoo filling the air. He called her _Valetchka_ too, whispered it between kisses in the moonlit dark of his apartment, against her skin.

Her mother died a few weeks later, cancer of the lung that Natalya never mentioned to her daughter. Not once. The doctors told Valerie her mother had stoutly refused treatment, told them that “If it’s God’s Will, I will not stand in His way.”

Valerie deferred her classes after the funeral, swore to herself she would return to her studies within the year, for Natalya, if not for herself. Instead, she fell deeper in love. Chuck stayed on as editor of the student paper, and Valerie started part-time at the local diner, pouring coffee, slicing pie. Her mother left her their little house, but the memories there were too painful to stay. Chuck helped her to sell the place, tucked away the memories she could keep into cardboard boxes. 

He took her mind off things in the best way, diner dates and road trips. He asked her to marry him on a flannel blanket spread out on the lawn of Pope Farm Conservancy. They spent the afternoon wandering the fields of towering sunflowers, hiking, and birdwatching. While Valerie walked through fields of wildflowers, distracted by the sun’s warmth and the bees, Chuck made a lame excuse, “Out of film for my camera,” and slipped away to the car. With shaking hands, he collected the wicker basket; fresh French bread, Valerie’s favorite Cabernet Franc, plump red grapes and ripe cheese from the monger, who gave him a discount for the occasion. He patted his pocket for the little box, stoked his confidence with a shaky sigh.

Valerie’s smile dwarfed the sun when he returned, arms reaching out to him. He fell into her embrace with a shuddering breath, blamed his nerves on the heat. Valerie fussed over him, found a perfect shaded spot under a sprawling tree where they sat and ate leisurely, sipped at the wine and talked of their future. As the sun set they lay, pressed together, watching the breeze blow through the branches, birds chirruping overhead. With her head on his chest, her fingers painting lazy patterns on the skin of his arm, the question had slipped easily from his lips, “Marry me, Valetchka?” And she had cried at the endearment, shared her tears only with him from then on.

The wedding was a private affair, the registry office painted in a duck-egg blue, little room buzzing with their college friends. Sera Siege stood at the front, as Best Woman for them both, dressed in a dazzling blush pantsuit. Chuck let Valerie keep her maiden name in Natalya’s honor.

***

Valerie stood in the living room, _hers_ now. The novelty was still so new, she had to pinch herself, just to make sure she hadn’t dreamt the whole thing. Boxes littered the floor, it was hard to know where to start.

She heard Chuck kick the door shut behind himself, bringing in the last of the boxes, setting them down by her ankle before scooping her up in his arms. He was humming the song that had cemented their relationship not so long ago. It was a song that used to grate, but in Chuck’s melodic voice, she could just about tolerate it. Especially when he sang the words against her skin as he did now.

“Zing, zing, zing went my heartstrings,” he sang, arms tightening about her waist, nose nuzzling at her jaw. She let him sway her from side to side as she considered the mess around them.

“God where do we start?” she asked, tracing her fingers across his forearms.

She felt him shrug at her back, his chin hooking over her shoulder, “Take-out?”

She rolled her eyes, “Chuck-”

“Come on, I’m starving,” he whined, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, “all of this can wait, it’s getting late.”

Valerie lay her head back against him, “I don’t feel like food right now.”

“Still feeling peaky?” Chuck asked, concerned. Valerie nodded as her stomach rolled in casual nausea as it had been for most of the day. He lay a hand over her forehead, “You’re smokin’ hot.” His hands covered her stomach as they laughed, slowly dwindling to a tense quiet, “You don’t think…”

Valerie swallowed, “I don’t know,” turning in his arms and looping hers around his neck to play with the hair that curled at his nape, “with the stress of the move, I haven’t been keeping track.” Chuck nuzzled her nose with his before holding her at arm’s length, kneeling in front of her to talk straight to her stomach.

“If anyone’s squatting in there rent-free, come out with your hands up.” Valerie buried her fingers in Chuck’s brown curls, scratching gently at his scalp. His eyes were bright as he gazed back at her. he had always done that, just looked at her, sometimes for minutes at a time without saying a word. Made her feel adored like she was the only person in the world that mattered. He uttered his next words against the soft swell of her stomach, his voice vibrating against her skin.

“We’ll get a test tomorrow.”

***

Michael was a serious child that all the ladies at St. Andrews Episcopal Church fawned over. They complimented his thick, dark hair and striking blue eyes and said he looked just like his mother. He was so quiet, Valerie and Chuck often brought the baby with them to sermons where he cooed and gurgled and reached for anyone who asked to hold him. Julia Wilkinson, a lovely woman who had known Valerie’s mother, often sat behind the Krushnics, just to have the excuse to make funny faces at the baby, who returned her smiles with glee.

In truth, Michael looked just like his grandmother and when he woke in the middle of the night those first few months, Valerie was always the one who went to him. She sat in the antique rocking chair near the window, bathed in moonlight, and told Michael about Natalya until they both drifted off to sleep. Chuck found them sometimes on his way to the bathroom, and carefully returned Michael to his crib with a gentle kiss, returned his beautiful, sleep-mussed wife to their bed.


	2. Baby Blues

Michael was tucked safely in his pack and play in the living room while Valerie was shut up in the avocado bathroom with the kitchen timer. It was her day off and she had spent the afternoon toting a toddling Michael around from store to store. He had taken a little nap while they shopped at Woodman’s Market and slept right through Valerie’s emergency pit stop at the Gas-N-Sip to throw up her lunch. She had been sick for three days and her lips were chapped from dehydration. Chuck thought it might be food poisoning. He had bought her a new tube of her favorite lip balm and took over changing Michael full-time because the smell turned her stomach. So did dinner, and the parking lot at work, last week, when it had rained.

Valerie had washed her hands and rinsed her mouth, tried not to gag again at the smell of the pink hand soap. Michael squirmed in his stroller, stretched and smacked his lips. Then, she had made her way through the aisles of the gas station, picked up a half gallon of milk only she would drink and a box of pregnancy tests. She bought a pack of three because it was her mother’s lucky number.

The timer shrilled, and Valerie covered it firmly with her hand to dampen the ringing, held it to her stomach and pressed it into her shirt until the sound tapered. Loud noises put her on edge. The timer gave a half-hearted _ting_ as she sat it on the counter near their three toothbrushes. She peered over at the tests, lined up neatly on a layer of toilet paper she had pulled from the roll.

Three out of three. Perfect Score.

She left the tests on the countertop, unlocked the door, and made her way back to Michael. There would be two now. Michael would be her oldest. She looked around the living room, spun in a full circle and Michael giggled at the movement, reached for her. Valerie picked him up, whisked him off to the kitchen to help her cook. He loved to watch her while she made dinner. Chicken was the only thing that did not make her stomach roil at the moment, and she decided on soup, her mother’s recipe scrawled on the back of a postcard from Oregon. The chopping was methodical, helped keep her mind away from predicting Chuck’s reaction to the news. She had no idea if they were even ready for another child. They had whispered about it, tangled about one another at night, but hadn’t been actively trying.

The pot had just started to boil when the lock turned. Michael turned toward the noise and Chuck peered slowly around the doorframe. Valerie looked toward him, a smirk playing on her lips as Chuck pantomimed for Michael. The toddler squealed in delight, “Dada!” and Valerie’s ears rang. Chuck smacked a kiss to her grimace, wrapped an arm around her waist, and nosed behind her ear, “I love you.” She smiled, and Chuck beamed at her, then turned to Michael, kissed him, “Daddy, will be right back. Keep Mommy company for me.”

Chuck jogged up the stairs into their room to change for dinner and Valerie knew he would wash his hands before coming back down. She held her breath. She stirred the soup. Michael made a reach for the carrot scraps on the cutting board several feet away. She turned down the burner to simmer and held a carrot out to Michael and heard a gasp from upstairs. “Val…” Chuck clambered back downstairs all three tests in his grasp. His eyes were wide and teary, and Valerie couldn’t keep the smile off her face. Michael looked at them, head swinging from one to the other. Chuck was huffing an elated breath, dropped the tests onto the table and scooped Valerie into his arms, “Again?” he asked, and she nodded into his chest. “Yeah,” she breathed into his shirt.

Valerie waited until Michael’s fifteen-month checkup to see her obstetrician about the new baby. Michael was perfect: right in the middle of his growth chart and he only squirmed a little when his vaccines were administered. The nurse practitioner said he was the best baby she had seen all day and complimented his bright blue eyes and full dark hair. Valerie explained his nap schedule and the doctor was pleased that Michael was feeding himself. When the doctor asked if she was, “Thinking about another one anytime soon?” Valerie told him she thought she might be pregnant. 

A quick in-office test kept her perfect score. She was given a prenatal vitamin, but the doctor did not ask about how she was feeling and when he asked if she had any questions or concerns, she was silent. Michael had been such an easy baby. “Let’s see you back in three months with this little one,” the doctor said, ruffling Michael’s hair. The baby giggled and it warmed Valerie’s heart. “We’ll check up on baby number two, then.”

Chuck managed to get a half day off from _The Capital Times_ for Valerie’s five-month checkup. Valerie loved the cheerful office, one side for well visits and one side of sick visits. She was happy to have never been to the sick visit side. There was a mural that took up and entire wall, hand painted children playing various sports: two girls with pigtails, one in a wheelchair, playing with dolls, and a boy in a white and red 23 jersey with a basketball tucked under his arm. The waiting areas were split by a massive aquarium with a dozen different types of fish, some schoolers others massive, docile beasts that lazed around the tank in slow circles. Michael was partial to the suckermouths that latched on the pebbles and glass. He had a name for each of them and Valerie made sure to say hello to them when introduced.

Valerie watched Michael toddle over the reading nook, pulling a worn copy of _The Rainbow Fish_ from the rack, while they checked into their appointment. Chuck and Valerie found a seat while Michael’s back was turned, and he scanned the waiting room for them, brought the book back to Valerie, but veered off for Chuck at the last minute, crawling into his lap, book braced against Chuck’s stomach. Michael peered up into Chuck’s bright eyes, “Read, Daddy.” Valerie passed the quiet moments between check-in and, “Kruchnic? Come on back,” listening to Chuck’s gentle voice reading about the shining shoal and laughing to herself when Michael interrupted to make up his own story to go along with the pictures.

In the exam room, the doctor pressed the ultrasound wand deep into Valerie’s abdomen, the image shifting around until, like magic, the Krushnics saw their second son for the first time. Chuck was elated, scooped Michael up from his Busy Beads and pointed, animated to the ultrasound screen, nearly shouted, “Mikey, look! You’re gonna be a big brother, dude!” Valerie tried to be happy, but the wand was digging so hard into her side. Michael’s face split into a wide, baby-toothed grin, “Brother!” he exclaimed, pointing with Chuck to the screen. His other hand lodged firmly in the collar of Chuck’s shirt.

The doctor congratulated the Krushnics and told Valerie he would see her again in 3 months. There was no time to mention how sick she still was, and when she did say how tired she felt, the doctor told her, “That’s perfectly normal with two,” but she did not know how she would get through.

***

There was a mom and pop ice cream stand that Chuck liked to take them to for any sort of celebration. There were market lights strung up over the small parking lot, attached to the little white building with red trim. Big plywood menu boards, painted white, displayed all sorts of exotic flavor combinations and around the side a large deck hosted picnic tables and a bench seat built into the siding. Chuck told anyone who’d listen that they had another son on the way. The cashier did not charge them for Michael’s plain vanilla cone (he ordered all by himself), insisted that it was her treat, and Michael answered back, “Treat!”

Valerie found them a seat on the deck, licking her scoop of rum raisin from the tiny spoon they gave out with their cups. Chuck joined her on the bench while Michael chased the older children on unsteady legs, squealing and sugar-rushed. Chuck held Valerie and kissed her hair. They reminisced about when Valerie was pregnant with Michael and Valerie forgot, for just a moment, all her cares in the world.

Valerie often thought about that day at the ice cream stand wherever baby Gabriel kept her up at night, wailing his tiny lungs out regardless of what she did. They had tried letting him cry himself back to sleep, but then he would wake up Michael, who had been so good at sleeping through the night. There was a spare room across the hall from Michael’s, but their old baby monitors no longer worked so they moved Gabriel into their bedroom. It was not a real compromise and Valerie found herself up most nights, rocking the baby downstairs to try and let Chuck get some rest. He had gone back to the paper and his editor had reprimanded him for sloppy work after one too many sleepless nights.

She would plead with Gabriel, bargaining with the five-month-old to, “Please just _shut_ _up_.” Sometimes she would lay him out on a knitted blanket on the couch. She would stare down at his flailing limbs and red face and shake with rage, walk away from him because she feared what she might do to make him _stop screaming_. Chuck would join her some nights when his deadline wasn’t strict, but it was never enough. She was drowning, ears ringing constantly. She couldn’t concentrate, lost her train of thought, forgot where she was going.

She drove all the way to work with the boys on three different occasions, completely forgetting to drop them off at daycare. One of the girls had to cover her shift until she could drive them back and the woman at the facility said she was, “Worried sick about you dear,” with sympathetic eyes. Her manager cut back her hours until Chuck convinced her that she could quit, stay at home; he could support them on his newspaper salary. 

Valerie thought it was a wonderful idea at first, looked forward to more restful afternoons, and they had been saving a bundle on childcare if she stayed with the boys throughout the day. Maybe she just needed more time with her newborn, after all, she’d had all the time in the world with Michael. What she ended up with was a wailing infant and a toddler with more energy than she could keep up with. She tried taking them to the park to burn off energy, but Gabriel was scared of the ducks that waddled past his stroller, and Michael got sunburned, his delicate skin freckling and raw. The other mothers looked so put together. Valerie often went days without showering, her long hair tied in a complicated knot out of sheer necessity. She wondered if she should cut it, but Chuck loved it long. He called her a goddess and ran his hands through it when they watched the evening news, curled together in the big armchair.

***

Valerie must have been staring at the cereal for too long because the woman that had been circling the adjacent aisles finally elbowed past her with a terse, “Excuse me,” to grab a box from directly in front of Valerie. The boys were running unsupervised in Woodman’s, no doubt swiping pistachios and gummy bears from the bulk foods section. The manager had politely asked her the week before to please keep an eye on them, but Valerie did not have it in her that day. Chuck had been on assignment for the paper and Michael had started preschool that year. He was such a good boy, helped with his brother and dinner and chores (often cleaning up Gabriel’s messes before Valerie had a chance to find them) and he was so smart. He could count to ten and knew all the shapes in the wood block puzzles at the preschool.

Gabriel however, was the very definition of the terrible twos. Valerie had no idea how she had managed not to throw him down the stairs some days. If not for Michael, she would have thought herself the worst parent in the world. And as she stood in the cereal aisle, contemplating the last time she had bought name brand Cheerios, one of the nice ladies from church gently tapped Valerie’s elbow.

“I’ve always been partial to Raisin Bran myself,” Mrs. Wilkinson said in her kind voice, “though I do suspect the boys wouldn't care for it. Charles always did have a sweet tooth.” Valerie shook the cobwebs from her mind, banishing them back into the corners and realized she had a box of the cereal in her hand. She wondered when that had happened. 

“You’re right,” she said and made to put the cereal back on the shelf, swapping for Honey Nut Cheerios.

“A fine choice, dear. Just the right amount of sweet,” Mrs. Wilkinson said with a smile that reached her eyes. Many of the church ladies did not look at Valerie that way and she was grateful to have this woman by her side. “My niece just opened a daycare center at the church, free of charge. I understand Michael's in preschool now. That leaves you with little Gabriel at the house, right?”

“It’s just the two of us most days,” Valerie replied.

“Well, Jenny would love to have another little one to care for if you’d like to drop him off, or the church van can come right to the house to pick him up if you’d be interested?”

“Yes. Yes, absolutely. Thank you,” Valerie said, careful not to collapse in gratitude. A weight lifted from her chest. She added the Cheerios to her handcart and gave Mrs. Wilkinson a hesitant smile.

With Gabriel finally out of her hair, Valerie found herself relaxing for the first time in years. She got a job at the dollar store as a cashier and even made work friends – women she could have lunch with and a manager that relied on her to meet and exceed standards. She was never employee of the month, but Valerie was happy to don her smock over threadbare shirts and jeans and get to work.

Chuck was promoted at the paper to a fancy corner office and brought home takeout from fancy places downtown. They never went out, except to the diner where they had their first date, on the rare occasion, but he would set the table with their wedding china and put out votives Valerie had, tucked away under the avocado bathroom sink, a relic from when she used to take baths. They would sit in candlelight and stare at each other, talk quietly about their day. Michael was feeding himself, but Chuck liked to help Gabriel get at least a few bites into his mouth (most of his dinner ended up in Chuck’s hair). Gabriel was always more manageable with Chuck at home, did not grate as much when Valerie only had to see him in short burst for dinner and tuck-ins.

That Spring, St. Andrews extended their daycare hours and services to accommodate preschoolers and Valerie was able to enroll Michael into their program, too. Part of the Sunday tithe went to the expansion, overseen by Mrs. Wilkinson, so the fees were minimal. The plain white church van picked both boys up before her shift and Valerie picked them up just before dinner.

Sometimes she made a diversion on her way through the labyrinthine halls of the auxiliary building to get her boys and stopped in the nave to sit in their family pew and give thanks to God for his many blessings upon her. The fall light filtered beautifully through the abstract stained-glass windows and warmed Valerie’s face and she felt God with her in those moments. Felt His forgiveness of her past transgressions, her ill feelings for Gabriel, the times she wanted to leave her little family. She felt such relief after those little detours, refreshed to make it through another week. Another month. Another baby.

They found out on Gabriel’s second birthday that they were expecting. Gabriel became fiercely protective of Valerie as her belly grew. He brought her blankets and pillows and drew pictures of them all, a little window in Valerie’s circle-shaped torso showing a tiny stick figure baby. Chuck hung the pictures proudly on the refrigerator with mismatched magnets and told Gabriel how proud he was of him, “Taking such good care of Mommy.” Michael was always her best boy, helped her with dinner and always made sure Gabriel was not being too loud or too rough with her. For all of Gabriel’s desire to help, he often squealed too loudly when the baby started kicking, sometimes forgot that he couldn’t climb over her like he used to. Michael was quick to her aid, told Gabriel to, “Shh…Mommy’s _right there_ ,” and Valerie was eternally grateful.

Chuck gifted Valerie a beautiful book on angels for all religions during her baby shower, hinted that Valerie might keep with their accidental trend, and baby Castiel was born on a warm and sunny Thursday in September. He looked just like Michael and her grandmother and Valerie took it as a sign from God that Castiel’s baby blues were a gift for her weekly penance, meant to take the place of the pain in her heart.


	3. Regarding Chuck

When Chuck Shurley was lucid, typically in the wee hours of the morning when he had managed to pass out near a laundry exhaust vent, warm and damp and sweet-smelling from detergent and rotting food, he remembered his family.

Valerie with her bright eyes and dark, wild hair which, when not piled atop her head in a knot he had never worked out, spilled in cascading waves around her beautiful face. Little Castiel, with his mother’s messy hair, cooing and bouncing in the pack and play they had set up in their cheery living room. Gabriel, launching himself from Chuck’s favorite armchair, knowing his father’s strong arms would pluck him from thin air and perpetuate the myth Gabriel held that he could fly. And Michael, his first son, fierce and proud, helping Valerie around the house with chores that made him feel important, satisfied by his mother’s pleased smile.

Then, from beneath the grimy layers of his jackets, Chuck would produce a bottle which he no longer thought of as half-full and drank until obliterated once more. It was always Michael he drank to, the sweet boy with his mother's hair, his brothers’ protector.

But Michael was gone now and the remembrance of his first son's eyes, bright with fever instead of pride, always cut Chuck the deepest.

Chuck blamed himself for Michael's sickness. It was, after all, his fault. Chuck, weary in his corner office at _The Capitol Times_ , raised his sons with the clear understanding that not all children were privileged with three meals and a warm bed. Chuck, whose heart was full of love and compassion, taught this lesson by strong example.

The summer before Michael started preschool, Chuck volunteered to build a school in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. While there, unbeknownst to him, Chuck contracted a strain of cholera, which lay dormant in him except for a mild stomach cramp Chuck chalked up to the long flight. It lay in wait until, upon returning home to Wisconsin, the strain burrowed inside of his first son, having taken advantage of a shared drink.

Castiel and Gabriel were spared only by the overnight visit with their neighbors as Valerie's car was not big enough for two car seats, a booster chair, and the luggage.

Michael was hospitalized the next morning for severe dehydration, after a night of tearless crying over the toilet bowl, his skin cold, dry to the touch. By the time the doctors sequestered Chuck and administered a series of IVs and antibiotics, Michael had taken a sharp downward turn. He died in a cheerful quarantine room, stuck with intravenous needles, three days later.

Not the homecoming any of the Krushnics were expecting.

In the months that followed Michael’s funeral, the Krushnics were entirely broken. They saw nobody but one another, and even then, none of them felt _seen._ Even going through the motions felt herculean to muscles anchored to grief. Both boys were too young to truly understand the loss they faced, but their grief oozed its way out like squeezing blood from a wound. Little Castiel grew fussier, pushed away his food, cried more, as if he could sense the sorrow that grew day by day between the walls of his home, even if he did not understand it.

Gabriel, usually so lively and aware, fell into himself. He refused to leave either Chuck or Valerie alone for a second. As if he were afraid they might just disappear, too. It must have felt like that to him, Chuck reasoned. One day he had an older brother to play with, the next he was gone.

Gabriel sat on the floor by his feet as Chuck brushed his teeth, dragging his reluctant mind through the bedtime routine. Castiel was already down for the night, and Valerie was curled up beneath the covers, where she spent much of her time. Chuck looked at himself in the mirror as he brushed away the grime of three days’ neglect. His eyes bruised dark with insomnia, cheeks covered in greying fuzz, skin itching beneath. The thud of Gabriel’s head against his calf stole his attention and he spat and rinsed before gathering his son in his arms, knowing that wordless plea well, and pressed himself not to cry.

Gabriel’s little fists balled in in the shoulders of Chuck’s cardigan, but he did not cry. Just held on for dear life. Chuck rocked him, shushed and cooed at him. When Gabriel pulled away, his face was the very picture of insurmountable sorrow. His round eyes were bloodshot from near-constant tears and sleepless nights. Gabriel had slept between Chuck and Valerie the last few nights, too afraid to sleep alone, but he still tossed and turned, the bed too small for all three of them to be comfortable.

“Hey, little man,” Chuck said, ruffling Gabriel’s hair, as he swallowed back his own grief, “you think you can manage sleeping on your own tonight?” Gabriel’s little face bunched sharply as he vigorously shook his head, his blonde curls falling about his eyes. “I know you miss him, bud, we all do,” Chuck soothed, gathering his son’s hands and squeezing them in his own, “but you wanna know something?” Chuck couldn’t have said where the idea had come from, except that ‘heartstrings’ and his adult life with Valerie were intrinsically intertwined. It slipped out, easy as his own name. Gabriel nodded, pulled his hands from Chuck and used them to wipe his nose, his head rocking sluggishly back and forth in counterpoint.

“Everyone’s heart has strings on them,” Chuck explained, gently, “long glittering strings we can tie together with the strings of others.”

“Like laces?” Gabriel asked, shy as Chuck had ever heard him.

“Exactly,” Chuck smiled, “just like your shoelaces. When you’re family, your hearts are all tied together before you can even get your hands on them. Yours and mine, yours and Cassie’s, yours and mommy’s. And just because Michael is gone, it doesn’t mean his heart isn’t still tied to yours, he’s still here,” he said, pressing his hand to his chest, “With all of us.”

Chuck’s smile turned watery as Gabriel flattened his hands across his own chest, his little nose scrunching in confusion.

“You can’t see them, but you can tug on them. When you miss Michael, you can pull like this, so he knows you’re there. Sometimes you feel a tug too, huh? When you miss him, it hurts?” Gabriel nodded, and Chuck continued on, “That’s just Michael. He misses you too, bud.” Gabriel’s little hands folded over his own heart, caressing the last connection between him and his older brother, tears falling freely down his face. Chuck gathered him close, rocked him from side to side until the sniffling stopped.

“S-so,” Gabriel hiccupped as his tears stole his breath, “when y-you’re at work?”

“Sure, bud, you can pull on the string if you miss me,” Chuck said, pushing silken curls back from his son’s eyes, all the better to see the gold in them, “I’ll pull back. We’re always connected. All of us.”

Gabriel nodded, wiping roughly at his cheeks.

“Daddy?” he said, his voice quiet as his little hand wrapped around Chuck’s “I love you.”

Chuck could barely swallow around the lump in his throat, couldn’t hold back the tears that fell, “I love _you_ , Gabriel.”

***

In the aftermath, amongst hospital bills, a collection fund organized by his co-workers, and his wife's resentment, Chuck decided one night, heavy with the weight of his conviction, the family would be better off without him. He left Valerie with divorce papers and left Madison, hoping to escape his own spiraling thoughts. He left his sons, though it split him in two, left the only woman he’d ever loved, though he knew she’d hate him for it. He moved to Chicago. He had an old college friend in publishing who promised him a job and a spare room. But Chuck, broken and hollow, turned instead to the bottle for support.

And thus, Charles Krushnic spent his days drunk and disorderly, in a small, shrubby park frequented by himself and a blackbird, and his evenings curled against the damp warmth of an alleyway exhaust vent, the smell of the detergent Valerie favored wafting in the air, dreaming of his first son helping her to fold the clean clothes.

***

Valerie Krushnic never signed the divorce papers Chuck left for her. Instead, she sealed them away in a large envelope along with Michael's birth and death certificates and his baby album in the safety deposit box she had opened with Chuck at the Dane County Credit Union the year they were married. She wept quietly in the vault room while the guard and banker looked anywhere but at her. On her way through the lobby, a small girl pointed to her and asked, in a three-year-old's approximation of a whisper, "Is she ok, Momma?"

Valerie only used the drive-thru service lane after that, but that was ok because the boys she had left loved going with her. Castiel always squealed with delight watching the pneumatic tube whisk away their deposit, and the teller would always give them an entire handful of safety suckers. 

It was their new family tradition: Valerie would carefully swing open the top of the deposit container, remove the receipt, and pass the container back to Gabriel's chubby preschooler hands. With a gleeful shriek, he would dump the suckers over his head and Valerie would pluck the container from his hands, replacing it in its cradle. By that point, Gabriel would have opened two suckers, one for each hand, and Castiel, clapping and grabbing from his car seat, would be passed a blue sucker, his favorite (or, more likely, Gabriel's least-favorite) and Valerie would take the opportunity to snatch an orange pop for herself, smiling around the looped rope.

The tellers would laugh silently behind the glass, though the three Krushnics never noticed.


	4. The Vibrant Child

Gabriel was a vibrant child, whom the nice church ladies called ‘precocious’ and the not-so-nice church ladies called ‘a handful’. Valerie often sided with the not-so-nice ones. She loved him dearly (despite loving him requiring conscious effort), but Gabriel, middle-son-turned-oldest, had a way of disappearing, vanishing into thin air, that made her heart stop beating. 

When Gabriel turned five, Valerie surprised the boys with a trip the Madison Children’s Museum, a triangular, concrete building sat on a street corner that Gabriel gaped at silently for ten whole minutes (Valerie was certain this was a record as he often jabbered in his sleep).

Her favorite part of the entire evening was the Rooftop Ramble.

Gabriel had shot off like a bullet to the climbing structure, screaming with the other children, challenging them to the top, flanked on all sides by towering plants in yellows and reds, and so much green. There were chickens and Gabriel hid behind Valerie’s legs, crawling through them to duck into the space between her shins and the stroller Castiel had almost outgrown. The attendant held the clucking chicken for her, and she petted its feathery head, tried to coax Gabriel from hiding to no avail.

Valerie unhooked Castiel from the stroller, sat him near the raised planters, then found a shaded wall, covered in vines, and cried into her hands, thinking how God’s grace was there, surrounding her, giving Gabriel another year Michael had not.

Her favorite part of the entire evening was the Rooftop Ramble until it was not.

When she looked up, wiping her eyes and nose into her sleeve, it was not Gabriel who had vanished from her sight, but Castiel. Panic rose in her chest and she called loudly for Gabriel to come back to her and, “Where’s your brother?” Frantic, panicked. Gabriel was smiling-to-serious in an instant, and it would have broken her heart all over again if she had been paying attention to him.

A very nice girl in a very green polo approached Valerie and tried to calm her down, asked who was missing, tripped over Castiel’s name. Valerie was screaming, “It’s my son. My son.” over and over again. The very nice girl lead Valerie back to the vine-covered wall where Gabriel with teary eyes and Castiel, wailing like his mother, were waiting by the stroller. Valerie choked on her breath and the very nice girl in the very green polo escorted them down to the lobby and into a cafeteria where school groups stored their belongings. Valerie apologized over and over again to herself, the boys and the very nice girl who had wrangled her guest services manager, in a very orange polo, into sitting with the three Krushnics until Valerie could drive them home.

***

Valerie read an article once, back when she was pregnant with Michael, that routines were vital for early childhood development. Since Chuck left her, Valerie’s routine was held together by a cheap, dollar store calendar she purchased with her employee discount. On it, alongside her work schedule, bill schedule and paydays (marked with a little hand-drawn money bags she let the boys doodle) were all the restaurants with kids-eat-free menus. 

Wednesdays were both days off and errand days. They were also the best days. She woke the boys early for breakfast with toast and eggs, then headed to the bank for a deposit and suckers, then to Applebee’s where the waitresses knew their orders and lunch was nine-ninety-five for the three of them (with refills). Castiel ate most of his macaroni and cheese. Gabriel always ate his leftovers, on top of his own lunch, under the table, where the waitress ducked to wave to him and sat his plate on the booth seat instead of the tabletop. Valerie always wished she could tip more.

Woodman’s was one of those grocery stores that sent circulars to the house, ones whose cheap newsprint left Valerie’s fingers grey-black and chalky. She spent Tuesday evenings, after bath time and bedtime stories, and goodnight kisses to foreheads and cheeks, going through the ad, page by page, circling items until she reached the end. Then, she would carefully transcribe each item, by aisle, to a leftover napkin with her favorite blue pen with the smooth ink; she loved the way it dug into the paper’s pulp, drew a few flourishes just to stretch out the feeling. Then, she would spend the better part of twenty minutes scrubbing her hands clean.

After lunch, she took the boys to Woodman's and Gabriel always begged for a donut from the bakery case and Castiel never begged for anything.

Valerie kept to her dollar store calendar, which had grown cluttered with additions throughout the years: parent-teacher conferences, school plays and holidays. Valerie grew to despise Spring Break because she had to plan weeks in advance to afford food, couldn't work while Gabriel was on vacation.

She cried the night Gabriel asked if he could go to overnight camp with his fourth-grade class. She held her tears as best she could as she explained to him in her grown-up voice that they, "Did not have the money," to go to camp (she was also afraid of losing him, though she kept that in with her tears). Gabriel understood, after half an hour of sobs that wracked Valerie in kind. Sniffling, Gabriel listened to her fumbled alternative, rushing with renewed glee to make a fort in the backyard from old sheets she did not mind him getting dirty, and he and Castiel played there the entire break. 

Valerie depended on the church’s food pantry toward the end of Gabriel's school breaks. She and Chuck had volunteered there before Michael was born. The nice church ladies gave her an extra bag of rice. The not-so-nice church ladies talked behind their hands. Valerie took the boys to services every Sunday (when she was able to wake them up on time). Some Sundays, they even made the early service. Gabriel hid beneath the pews and Castiel sat silently, swinging his feet back so Gabriel could bat at them. When the preacher talked about fire and brimstone, the boys took a nap under the pew, shared Valerie's purse for a pillow, their quiet snores soothed her.


	5. Making a Fool

Valerie hated Chuck more than she loved him sometimes, wondered how she had ever managed to love him at all in the months after he left her to fall apart on her own. He was so strong when she lost her mother, had taken care of everything. She felt cheated by him, grief replacing infidelity. She wondered, raged in the darkness of her bedroom, surrounded by the things he left behind, how their love could not see them through their loss. Perhaps he had never really loved her at all. They were thoughts of weakness and she let herself drown in them. She hated herself, too. For crying all the time, not getting the boys out of bed in time to catch the church van, sitting at home with them and watching them cry, too. There were too many tears, too much hopelessness. Her sons kept asking her where daddy was, and Valerie felt herself drowning under the weight of their grief.

They clung to her constantly. She woke more often than not to Gabriel snuggled warm and cozy into Chuck’s pillow. It broke her heart every morning, shattered her delicate mood, threw her into hysterics. She would wake Gabriel with her sobbing and they would hold each other until Castiel came to crawl into bed with them, distressed that Gabriel was not in their room, immediately relieved when she called him to her. Eventually, she let Gabriel take Chuck’s pillow into the boys’ room, and he slept through the night with it tucked beneath his blond curls.

The depression hit her in waves. She would be making the boys sandwiches for class on rare days when she woke up lucid, cutting the crusts from Gabriel’s sandwiches, tucking the scraps alongside Castiel’s PB&J. He loved the crusts and she recalled the time Castiel begged her for the fancy bread with the marble swirl and the seeds baked into the top. She had had to tell him, “No, baby blue, not today,” because their budget was tight after Chuck left them and she couldn’t spare the extra three dollars. Valerie would have to set down her bread knife, hands suddenly too shaky to continue their task.

When the boys got a little older, Mrs. Wilkinson started making the Krushnics her last stop in the mornings so that Valerie had a few extra minutes to get the boys ready. It was not really out of the way, and she saw evidence of God’s grace on Sunday mornings when all three of them made it to church, a little more awake, a little more aware. What Mrs. Wilkinson did not know was the way it sometimes left Valerie utterly alone.

Some days, when the extra time nearly did not help, when Valerie couldn’t summon the strength to drag herself out of bed when the boys had to get themselves ready, when their socks did not match, Valerie would call out sick. The ladies she worked with appreciated the extra hours and most had heard rumors of Valerie’s situation and were willing to lend a hand. Not that Valerie knew that, either. 

She would sit all alone, sometimes in the big brown armchair, sometimes on her bed or in the bedroom closet surrounded by Chuck’s old things, musty with time, and weep. Even coming back to collect his belongings was too painful, he had left the majority of his things behind, leaving the house almost frozen in its waiting, hopeful for his return. When the days were nearly insurmountable, and the boys had been picked up and taken to church, Valerie would roll herself out of bed and creep on tiptoe down the hall. There was a door no longer opened, a memory too difficult to bear and Valerie sought her comfort there.

She eased open the door, disturbing the dust which had settled over its contents: a single boy’s bed with race car sheets, a little white desk where Michael did his homework, a small bookcase which was nearly empty. After they lost Michael, Chuck and Valerie had replaced the baby monitor and moved Gabriel across the hall to Castiel’s nursery. They had planned to convert Castiel’s crib, once Michael’s, into his big boy bed, and the funeral director of all people, suggested that the boys they had left, might do better in a shared space.

So, they had removed the crib railings and tucked Gabriel’s bed into the opposite corner and their boys shared a small end table between them, a single lamp and a framed photo of their three boys perched on its surface. Gabriel had crammed all the books Michael read to him under his bed and beneath his pillow. He had insisted Valerie read them over and over until he had memorized the words. She had found him a sometimes, worried when the house was too quiet, reciting them all to baby Castiel. It was the only time she remembered Gabriel being truly well-behaved.

The dust settled, and Valerie held back a sneeze. Crept farther into the silent room and sat gingerly on the little bed, her knees drawn up near her chin. There was a rocker near the headboard, but she couldn’t bring herself to sit there, had to be closest to her first son.

Valerie gently lifted the pillow from its place and turned it in her hands, brought it up to her face, pressed it to her nose and inhaled. His scent had faded so that only the gentle smell of the fabric softener remained, and she cried into it. Bent over her knees and felt them press into her eyes through the little pillow. She spent the afternoon there until her circadian rhythm warned her the boys she had left would soon be back to her. The pillow was tear-stained, but Valerie dared not wash its case, feared losing Michael altogether. 

***

Valerie daydreamed often in the months after Chuck, after Michael. She was plagued by nightmares and nodded off at work, tucked behind the stockroom shelves at the dollar store. She kept to herself and her coworkers never tried to engage with her anymore. She was too depressed, lacked the energy to get through the day, let alone hold a conversation over her lunch break, smoke break. She had recently taken up smoking, remembered sneaking cigarettes from her mother’s red and gold pack of Winstons when she was a teenager. Her mother smoked when her father drank, said it calmed her nerves. Valerie understood the sentiment, the burning warmth in her lungs. It was a comfort to her, and while her mother turned in her grave, Valerie felt closer to her, between one drag and the next.

Valerie, bundled up in an old cardigan of Chuck’s, took a drag of her cigarette in the chilly spring air behind the store and remembered other things, too.

The very act of picking a coffin, a headstone for her first-born son, had been the single worst thing she had ever experienced. A deep unsettling in the pit of her stomach, screaming that this was never supposed to happen. No parent should ever have to bury their child. Valerie was cheated out of a son, just like Michael was cheated out of a long, happy life. Michael had been stolen from them all, and Valerie struggled to see any fairness in that. It was never something she considered, as she pushed him howling into the world, that she would say goodbye to him so soon, that she would place him in a coffin no bigger than the crib she had picked for him.

Walking the selection of headstones, something she hadn’t done for her mother, she shivered, unable to understand, to comprehend fully the decision that was ahead of her. She picked one with Chuck, a more grief-laden decision they had never made as a couple; gleaming white and clean (she resolved to keep it that color as long as she lived) a winged cherub with its hands stretched heavenward. She knelt by it for a long time, but there was a disconnect; it was an impossible thing to grasp, the rows of headstones were laid out as casually as statues at a garden center. This stone, though, would lie at the head of her son’s grave, this stone, purchased with money given in grief, would look on coldly as she knelt and wept in front of it for the rest of her life.

She wore her mother’s pearls to a second funeral.

For the first few months, Valerie visited that grave every day with or without her husband; it was too hard to simply go on with her life, remembering her son lowered into a deep dark hole, to not go and reassure him that she was still here, that everything was going to be okay. She never took his younger brothers, simply left them in the car with the radio on loud. Gabriel watched out of the window, his little hands pressed against the glass. Valerie would kneel on the grass, wet or not, and lay fresh-cut flowers from the Gas-N-Sip on the bare dirt. So new. One day, though it ached sharply to think about, this grave would look like all the others. When she was gone, when his brothers were gone too, his grave would sit, unvisited, eventually to be taken over entirely by moss and weeds. Nobody would lie flowers down for Michael then. Nobody would be there to tell him it was all okay.

The grass in front of her son’s grave grew worn beneath her knees, especially as the visits grew more frequent once Chuck gave up on his family. On her.

Valerie jerked at the sound of a door opening down the alley. One of the bus boys from the Chinese place taking out food scraps. There was a small herd of stray cats that camped outside of their dumpster, waiting for shrimp tails and salmon skin. She glanced at her watch and cursed under her breath just as the heavy trash bags made their impact. Late again. She stubbed her cigarette into the coffee tin of sand they kept out back and apologized to the girl she relieved at the register with a hesitant smile.

***

The Gas-n-Sip only had single stem roses with a spray of baby’s-breath. They were all yellow like her wedding flowers, and Valerie bought three, one for each of her sons. She zoned out on the way to the cemetery, completely surprised to find herself parked along the narrow path near Michael’s grave. She had been smoking too, evidently, a cigarette held loosely between her fingers, only slipping when she became aware she was holding it.

The car smelled like smoke and she did not want her boys breathing in the stale fumes, so she opened all the windows in the car, walked around to the passenger side to get the roses. She pulled a threadbare flannel blanket from the trunk and picked her way to Michael’s headstone, dodging grave markers, careful not to step on the flat bronze plates set into the ground. There were several silk arrangements laying in the grass near Michael, weathered with age and dirt. Valerie gathered them all, placed them into upturned urns, spared a thought for each loved one below. Michael would have wanted her to help keep everything neat. he had always been so good at helping to pick up his toys, Gabriel’s, too.

She opened the blanket out on the patch of grass where Michael lay resting, bent to pull the urn from the ground in front of the headstone, then folded herself into a ball, chin resting on her knees for a moment. She unwrapped the roses, removed the water vial from each stem and poured them into the urn, arranged them with the baby’s-breath into a little trinity, tucking them into place.

Valerie sat back again, satisfied with her offering and breathed for the first time in ages. This was the only place where she found peace. Alone in the cooling wind. The van would drop off the boys in two hours, and Valerie felt a little freer knowing they were taken care of, that she could take her time here. She always spoke to the angel resting on top of the headstone, met its stone eyes and imagined Michael’s baby blues staring back at her, so much like Castiel’s, like her own.

“Hey, honey,” she said quietly, glancing around herself, even though she knew she wasn’t the first person to talk out loud in a cemetery. The sky brightened just a little, sunrays poking their fingers through the clouds.

“That you, baby?” Valerie asked voice tinted with awe as the light split apart the oppressive clouds, like her baby’s dimpled smile, “I miss you.”

She had grappled for a while whether to tell Michael about his father or not. It felt horrible to lie to him, but just as bad to tell him that his father was not around anymore. She had delicately dodged it each visit for nearly a year, but its weight was growing unbearable. Just the thought sprung fresh tears, welling and spilling down her cheeks.

“Honey, I should tell you…” she stalled, a blackbird flitted between the headstones, chirruping and ruffling its feathers. Valerie directed the news at it instead, “Daddy left. He still loves you very much, but… it hurts him too much, to be with us, to be without you.”

The blackbird hopped closer, tilting its head this way and that. Valerie looked about, dug in the dirt by her knees, finding a worm with ease, which she held at arm’s length for the bird, wondering if it would indeed take it from her fingers. It seemed hesitant as it hopped closer, no more than a couple of feet from her. A strange feeling overcame her, something about its eyes. Something so familiar. In her grief-stricken state, she could almost feel…

The blackbird shuffled closer, one delicate step at a time, eyes never leaving the worm wriggling in her fingertips. It ducked its head, pulled at the point furthest from her grasp and took the treat, swallowing it quickly. Her fingers itched to reach out for it, to hold it close. They locked eyes, Valerie and the bird, it with its cocked head and coal-black feathers, her with bloodshot eyes and straggly unwashed hair. Her fingers unfurled where her other hand had tangled on her thigh, and she reached out slowly, inched towards it. The bird’s eyes never left her fingers, Valerie could have imagined it, but she would’ve sworn blind the blackbird stretched its head to meet her palm. Her fingertips brushed against the feathers, a breath’s moment, a zing of that peculiar _something_ ringing through her, tugging at her heart, before the bird took to the darkening sky. Valerie watched it from the damp ground of her son’s grave, a profound peace settling over her heart.

***

Castiel was a quiet child, whom the nice church ladies called 'well-behaved' and the not-so-nice church ladies called 'well-mannered'. This might seem like a case of rare agreement, but trust that the not-so-nice church ladies went out of their way to let Valerie know how _well_ she did with Castiel.

There was a week in mid-August when Valerie would disappear. When the boys were older, Gabriel coined the term Gone Week. The inaugural Gone Week occurred shortly after Castiel was enrolled in the church's free preschool class, paid for by tithes and offerings and staffed by ancient women whose own children had left the nest decades before. Each day, after their morning prayers and Bible recitations, Castiel would be given a tiny Styrofoam cup with a shaky handful of Nilla Wafers and another with lemonade that made his lips pucker and his teeth feel funny. The other preschoolers counted their wafers before eating them and complained when there was an uneven number among them; the volunteers were happy the children had learned to count.

Castiel liked to crush his empty cup between his baby teeth, liked the way it felt to dig into the too-white surface. Castiel also liked waiting for his mother to pick him up because he got to play on the swings, dared by the other four-year-olds to launch himself into the wood chips. Gabriel helped pick out the splinters in Castiel's knees when they got home.

But one Thursday, Valerie did not come to get Castiel. In fact, she hadn't come to get Gabriel from elementary school, either. Instead, as the last of the children were picked up in their minivan chariot, running and springing into the backseat to, "Buckle-up kiddo and let's go home!" Castiel was still swinging. Ms. Wilkinson, who never mispronounced his name, and whose hair Gabriel described as Creamsicle-colored, turned to collect Castiel back inside, through the labyrinthine hallways and back to his classroom.

There, they waited for one hour and seventeen minutes before Valerie shuffled into the room. Ms. Wilkinson was nice enough not to mention the hair appointment she had called to cancel from the room's rotary-dial phone, while Castiel read quietly from his favorite picture book.

When he noticed his mother in the doorway, Castiel smiled, closed the book, returned it to the wall rack and made his way quietly to her side, grabbed her hand and listened to her brief apology. Ms. Wilkinson asked Valerie if she was, "Alright, dear?" and Valerie only nodded in reply.

The car ride was quiet and Castiel tried not to cry too loudly in the car seat that was Michael's (Gabriel's had been sold in a yard sale the previous year because it was newer) until they picked up Gabriel from Glendale Elementary school's beige brick façade, his legs kicking back and forth on the low wall where he sat. Gabriel was able to lighten the mood with a story about how, “Mr. Morrison broke his circle glasses when he cleaned them too hard on his sleeve.”

Valerie liked to park her car in the detached garage, accessed by the alley which ran behind the Krushnic family home. The boys were not allowed to play there because their neighbors did not always look out for children on their way to and from work. During Gone Week, Valerie did not like waiting for the garage door to lift because it made her anxious, so she parked in front of the house. This meant that the boys had to watch for the pokey part of the chain link gate when she swung it open to admit them. The pokey part would catch the boys' shirts and pull holes into them and Valerie would cry because she was not good at mending.

During Gone Week, Valerie liked to sit in their father's favorite armchair, curled into a ball so that the boys had no room to cuddle with her. She thumbed through the baby books for the boys she had left with a full glass of red wine. She kept from reclining the armchair, even though she liked to put her feet up because Castiel liked to crawl inside the chair's guts and pretend he was in a spaceship and Gabriel liked to fling himself against the outstretched footrest to pitch the whole thing forward and that made her more anxious than the garage door.

Valerie was hardly aware of how far she’d slipped, as time wore on she thought she had a handle on her grief. Her visits to Michael’s grave became fewer and farther between, and she was able to participate with Gabriel when he showed her drawings or assignments he had completed in class. She still cringed at his high-pitched squeals of laughter, but she could sit with him at the kitchen table and attempt to tackle his homework without clenching her fists. She was thankful that Castiel’s only difficult assignments involved choosing the largest number from a pair.

Valerie hardly ever noticed Castiel when they were not in the same room. He liked to read the books Gabriel used to read to him up in their room. He was so quiet it unnerved her. She tried engaging with him, but he often looked past her, to Gabriel, deferring to his outspoken brother. She wished she knew Castiel better, but he only ever spoke when asked direct questions.

***

There was still the one week out of the year, though Valerie was doing better when she sometimes felt haunted. When she was putting together the week’s grocery list or doing the boys’ laundry. She would catch sight of a specter, a shock of dark hair. Valerie hardly let herself think that it was almost three years since she had lost him. Michael. She would follow it, the specter, call out to it. Of course, it was always Castiel who turned. It was uncanny, the way he was growing up, a near twin.

As the week wore on, Valerie would slip further, going, going, _gone,_ grab at Castiel when he came into the kitchen to ask for a snack, pull him close to her face and whisper her lost son’s name. She searched his eyes, convinced she would find him there. Michael. Castiel would go still in her arms, and she would _know_ he was in there, sharing space with her youngest son. Her eyes, wild and bright with unshed tears, terrified Castiel and he would cry in her arms, snap her out of her haunted feeling. She would push him away from her then, and he would stumble back into Gabriel, who had come into the kitchen at the sound of Castiel’s tears. Wanting to know what had happened and, “What’s the matter, Cassie?”

None of them understood the slips. In the beginning, Valerie did not notice the timing, and as the years stretched on, she refused to remember, drank herself into oblivion instead.


	6. Milestones

Castiel was excited for his first day of kindergarten, bouncing on his knees all morning at the dining table, no matter how many times Valerie tried to get him to sit on his bum. With a toothy grin, he laid out his clothes the night before, dressing at six with Gabriel’s help, before presenting himself to her in the weak morning sunshine. She grabbed her sons and dragged them into bed with her as they squealed and kicked their jean-covered legs in the air. She held them close, breathing in Castiel’s hair, letting Gabriel’s hands tangle in her bedhead. They dozed together just like that for another half an hour before Valerie finally conceded they would be late. Gabriel’s second-grade teacher had enough complaints as it was, what with Gabriel’s unruly behavior and his motormouth-itis.

She got dressed hurriedly as her boys wrestled in her sheets, before shooting a quick call to Mrs. Wilkinson to stay the church van. She wanted to take Castiel herself on his first day at St. Andrews, make sure he settled okay. It felt like severing a tie, she hated that she was the one holding the knife. She had been through this twice before, she reasoned, and every time it was fine, for the most part. Michael had been quick to explore his surroundings, and though Valerie got a panicked call from a staff member to say that Michael was screaming because he could no longer find her, it was mostly smooth sailing. Gabriel had been reluctant to leave her, clinging to her jeans until she pried his fingers from her. He had a remarkably strong grip. After playing with him for a few minutes at the water table, Valerie was able to execute a seamless exit, leaving Gabriel chasing after the girls in the group with a maniacal cackle. She had watched them swarm to him, the girls, naturally drawn to him by his bright curls and the dimples that pressed into his cheeks when he grinned.

She watched Castiel spoon heaps of cheerios into his mouth, so fast she was almost afraid he might choke, especially with the incessant bouncing on his heels.

“Castiel, slow down, honey, you’ll choke. Chew and swallow.”

She watched as milk leaked from between his lips, tried her best to swallow her amusement. Gabriel couldn’t, of course, and laughed so hard that Castiel spat out his milk across the table. Valerie was still chuckling even as she wiped up the mess.

“None of that, now,” she chided gently, “Gabe, you all done?”

“I’m still hungry,” Gabriel pouted.

“You must be growing,” Valerie grinned, feeling the lightness of a good day on her shoulders, “Let’s go measure you.”

All three of them ran up the stairs, Valerie having accepted their fate as the ones who were late on the first day back at school. Gabriel stood against their measuring chart, no more than pencil marks against the wall in Valerie’s bedroom. He puffed out his chest proudly, and Valerie had to push on his head to stop him rising up on his toes.

“Lemme see, lemme see,” he chanted as he spun around to see his progress. He was a little behind in his class with his reading, but he knew how to recognize his name no problem. He pointed to the new marking with glee.

“Mommy! Look! I growed!”

“ _ Grew _ , honey, yes you did,” Valerie gave him a solid high five, reserving a gentler one for Castiel when he pouted.

“Grew,” Gabriel nodded, “Am I taller than daddy yet?”

Valerie shook her head, sadness quickly blossoming at the mention of her absent husband. She waved her good day goodbye. “Go and brush your teeth now.”

“But, I’m still hungry!”

“You’ll have to wait till lunch, there’s no time,” Valerie sighed, shooing them both to the bathroom, “help Cassie with his toothpaste, Gabe, okay?”

Valerie turned back to the wall, tracing over Gabriel’s new mark. He had gained at least two inches over the summer. She would have to make a trip to the thrift store soon, see what bigger clothes were available, for no doubt he would keep sprouting and soon his jeans would be flapping about his calves.

Her hand stopped its tracing of Gabriel’s line, as her eyes traveled to the marking just above. Michael. Gabriel was almost caught up. Her heart clenched, and she rubbed at it as tears instantly stung at her eyes. He had been gone a whole year already. His absence left a tangible hole in her, one she could feel with her hands, dip into the void and pull out the pain like so many strands of ribbon. Some days were easier than others; with two young boys, there was barely time to grieve, but she realized, with startling clarity, that once she had dropped Castiel off at St. Andrew’s, she would be entirely alone with that pain.

A cry from the bathroom stopped her thoughts short, and she  _ just _ managed to pry the round brush from Castiel’s mop of unbrushed hair before her alarm shrilled from her bedroom.

She herded them both into the car, Gabriel, having missed his bus, stuffed a stolen slice of bread in his mouth as he ran. Valerie did not have the time to scold him over it. She ran several amber lights, running Gabriel to the door just before it closed behind the final student.

“Bye honey,” she rushed, kissing him quickly on the forehead. Gabriel scrunched up his face in displeasure; he never liked her affection in public. She ruffled his hair before he turned and scampered into class. She hoped he would find the right class, though she did not really have the time to brief him on it.

Castiel’s hand was warm and soft in hers as she stood in the empty playground for just a moment longer, just in case Gabriel came back out, but Castiel grew insistent, using his two hands to try and pry her from her roots.

“Okay,” she sighed, finally relenting, “let’s go, baby blue.”

She drove the long way to St. Andrew’s: al the back streets, turning unnecessarily this way and that, trying to lose herself, though it was impossible to lose the church. Its spire stuck out from all directions, that was the point. Castiel grew increasingly irritated in the backseat. Valerie steeled herself, finally setting them back on course.

Valerie thrilled when Castiel clung to her legs, hiding himself almost completely behind her, all his prior excitement dissipated at the sight of the other children. Valerie found his head, tangled her fingers in his hair.

“Hey, we can go home if you want, I can take the day off,” she said, kneeling to take his hands in hers, “You wanna go home?”

“Valerie!” Mrs. Wilkinson chimed, “So glad you made it!”

Valerie blushed, standing up, “Sorry we’re late. Might have to give it another week, this one’s clearly not read-”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Wilkinson smiled, in that knowing way she had, leaning around to seek Castiel’s eyes with her own, “he’s just feeling a little bashful, aren’t you, Castiel? This room is a lot different from the preschool room, isn’t it? Lots of new people and new things to check out.”

Castiel shook his head against Valerie’s thigh.

“It’s hard coming back after summer. You want to tell me what you got up to? Looks like you grew!”

Castiel’s grip lessened on Valerie’s jeans, just a little, and with it, the pain in Valerie’s heart doubled.

“Would you like to bring mommy on the tour? Show her what’s what? You can tell me about your adventures on the way,” Mrs. Wilkinson asked as she reached for his hand. Something primal rose within Valerie at the sight, and she barely swallowed the urge the urge to bat away her hand, to protect her son. Castiel looked up to Valerie before taking Mrs. Wilkinson’s hand. They walked like that, a chain of paper dolls around the various areas of the preschool, Castiel talking quietly about his summer, Mrs. Wilkinson nodding and laughing in all the right places. The light-tables with colorful plastic shapes, the paint easels and bean-bag chairs for story time. The road-map rug was Castiel’s favorite; he ran to it and pointed to a random spot on it and pronounced proudly, “Our house.” Valerie agreed with him, just to see his face break into that beaming smile she loved so much.

Half an hour into browsing the various stuffed animals with her youngest son, Mrs. Wilkinson took Valerie to one side. Valerie kept one eye on Castiel, as if, at any moment, he would disappear.

“You’re doing brilliantly,” Mrs. Wilkinson smiled, her eyes iridescent with it, “I think he’s okay for you to leave now. I’m sure you have a shift to get to.”

The pain in Valerie’s chest shot straight to her throat, made unbearable by her resistance to the tears it promised, “Just five more minutes.”

Mrs. Wilkinson’s hands found Valerie’s shoulders, squeezing almost too tight, “I know this is hard, dear. Your last son. And so close to-” she broke off as Valerie’s chin began to shake.

“Sorry,” Valerie apologized tearfully, turning her face from Castiel, who looked up concerned. Mrs. Wilkinson managed to distract him with an introduction to another boy his age, suggesting they play cars together on the road rug. She reappeared with a tissue that she pressed into Valerie’s hands. It did little to wipe her tears, which flowed faster than she could keep up with. She tried to steady her breathing, but it shuddered in her chest, loud enough that she was catching the attention of the other children.

“Come,” Mrs. Wilkinson said kindly, leading her by the elbow to a small room with a sofa and computer, a bulletin board with pictures of the children and their achievements. Last year’s Castiel smiled at her, the award of ‘best colorer’ held tightly in his hands. “You’re welcome to stay,” Mrs. Wilkinson continued, closing the door behind them both. Valerie’s sobs grew louder at the click of the latch, “but I think it’d be best for the both of you if…”

Valerie nodded quickly, tearing her eyes from the board, “I-I know,” she hiccupped, “I just… I can’t l-leave him.”

“You trust me, right?” Mrs. Wilkinson said as she kneeled down to look Valerie in her eyes, she rested a hand on the younger woman’s knee, “you know I’ll keep him safe.”

Valerie nodded, even though she couldn’t say she truly did. She had trusted Chuck after all. She had trusted vaccinations, she had trusted the doctors. And Michael was  _ still _ taken from her. There was no guarantee that Castiel wouldn’t be taken, too.

“I see your doubts,” Mrs. Wilkinson murmured gently, “they’re completely valid. How about I call you every hour today? As long as you need me to? To reassure you.”

Another nod and Mrs. Wilkinson joined her on the couch without another word. An arm slung over Valerie’s shoulders, rocking her gently from side to side as Valerie did with her own boys. It soothed her and her breathing gradually became easier.

When they both reappeared from the room, Castiel was happily playing with the light table, moving the shapes to fit perfectly with one another. Mrs. Wilkinson called to him, “Mommy’s leaving, honey, do you want to say goodbye?”

Castiel’s face fell, as he ran over as fast as his little legs could carry him, colliding with Valerie’s legs and squeezing tight.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Valerie soothed as he began to wail, kneeling down to swipe at his round cheeks with her thumbs, “I’ll be back before you know it, okay? If you’re feeling like you want to come home, just tell Mrs. Wilkinson, and I’ll come and get you.”

Castiel nodded, wiping at his own tears with his fists. “Shh now, baby blue, I’ll see you soon,” Valerie sighed, pulling him into a tight hug until his tears had calmed. She clung to him, even as he started to wriggle, squeezing out every last second before she had to walk away. Her boss was likely blowing up the home phone, wondering where she was. Castiel was the first to break the embrace, and Valerie was secretly glad it hadn’t been up to her. He hesitated a moment, before reaching up to plant a soggy kiss on her cheek.

“Love you, mommy,” he said, before he turned on his heel, making his way back to the light table. Valerie watched him tearfully, scrubbing her eyes irritably. She was so sick of crying.

“Good job,” Mrs. Wilkinson reassured, coaxing her towards the door, “I’ll call you, every hour, I promise. Now, get out of here, go get busy with work, okay? Pick up time will come sooner than you think.”

Valerie made it outside, thanking her friend with a watery smile. She smoked two cigarettes with shaking hands in the car on her way to work, the nicotine covering the ache, banishing it from her throat. It calmed her breathing enough to stem the tears for the day.

***

Chuck left most of his worldly possessions when he left his family, including a massive recliner. It was a relic from his college apartment and had its fair share of stains and patches, and about the time Castiel was learning the names of clouds, he rounded the corner of the living room doorway, shrieking as Gabriel followed, knockoff-Nerf gun aimed to kill. Castiel, unaware of the freshly mopped floors, slid on his socked feet and careened into the arm of his father’s big, brown chair and felt blood pool into his mouth. Stunned, Castiel gasped, choked on the blood in his mouth, and nearly inhaled his first baby tooth, knocked clean from his gum line. Gabriel, seeing his opening, unloaded his six-shooter right into Castiel’s rear end and Castiel dripped blood into the fabric of armchair.

Castiel turned toward Gabriel and coughed. Blood and the loose tooth flying from his mouth and onto the clean floors. For the briefest of moments, Gabriel thought he had actually killed Castiel and a look of abject horror marred his features. Castiel was staring at his tooth. His eyes welled. Gabriel saw the tooth. He turned tail and ran to the kitchen, desperate to clean his brother up before Valerie found out, brought back a wad of napkins from the counter and sighed out, “Holy crap, Cassie, are you ok?”

They spent the next several minutes cleaning up Castiel, the floor and the chair. It seemed Gabriel could add ‘bloodstain’ to the list of personal grievances he had with his father’s armchair. There was already an off-color patch near the framework at the top. It covered a hole Gabriel had picked into it back when he was “collecting things” for Lord knew what. Valerie had found his magpie stash. The couch batting kept company by acorns, rocks and a Biggerson’s cup full of a mixture of all of Valerie's hair products she kept under the bathroom sink. She had not noticed they had gone missing.

Gabriel threw the soiled napkins to the kitchen garbage and brought his brother a glass of water to rinse his mouth. They had moved their party into the small half bath downstairs, and Castiel swished and spat into the sink, a little unsteady at the sight of his own blood. “Lemme see,” Gabriel said and Castiel gave him a wide, holey grin. Gabriel smirked back, “Nice. Mom’s gonna freak.”

When Castiel presented his tooth over dinner that evening, Valerie surprised both her boys by insisting that Castiel put the tooth beneath his pillow and she would, “put in a call to the tooth fairy.” Gabriel snickered at the word ‘fairy’ and Castiel nodded his head enthusiastically. There were kids in his class that argued at great length over how much the going rate was for a lost tooth. Castiel received two dollars the next morning tucked beneath his pillow and Valerie kept the tooth tucked in the keepsake box beneath her bed.

***

The tiny office, no bigger than a broom closet loomed far larger as Valerie stood in its doorway. So many memories held in that desk, on that chair, looping her arms about her husband’s slumped shoulders at the end of an eight-hour lock-in, pulling him from the leather seat and half-carrying him to bed. He was always that way; intensely passionate. About writing. About her. The room hadn’t been touched since he left, and a thick layer of dust coated the surfaces. She entered slowly, like one entered a funeral home, like passing through a veil. She ran her fingertip over the desk, left a loving caress against the back of the chair as her eyes welled. It was time though, five years was long enough. Castiel had asked her about the bedroom across the way, but Valerie never ever opened that door in front of her sons.

“Mom?”

She whirled, batting quickly at her eyes to see Castiel, bouncing on his heels in the doorway.

“Hey, baby,” she forced her smile, “you ready to help mommy move everything?”

He nodded eagerly, bustling in, standing to attention beside her and awaiting instruction. The task was overwhelming, it was hard to know where to begin. She looked around at the piles of papers, books, things that begged to be sorted through, but that she did not have the strength to face.

“Could you go and fetch a garbage bag from the kitchen?”

“Magic word,” Castiel parroted with innocent eyes. Castiel had always been All About Rules.

“Please?” she smiled, stretching out the word on a wide smile. Castiel grinned back and turned on his heel without a word, as Valerie sank to the floor amidst the piles and piles of papers.

She picked up a few. Some were old records of bills paid, others were drafts of one thing or another. Poetry, which Chuck had always hated but Valerie always found a measure of charm in, hundreds of beginnings to novels he had never gone ahead with. She was reading over a sonnet when Castiel reappeared, trailing the entire roll of garbage bags behind him.

“I couldn’t rip it,” he pouted, “sorry, mom.”

“Oh, hush yourself,” Valerie fussed, easily tearing a bag from the roll, “I should’ve known it’d be too hard for you, that’s my fault.”

“I’m not very strong,” Castiel reasoned, wisely.

“If you ate more spinach you would be.” Castiel made a face, scrunched his nose up and stuck out his tongue, just like Chuck used to do. Castiel had never seen that expression on his father’s face. He probably did not even remember him. Valerie shut her eyes against the constant ache, turned her attention to the papers, which she carefully placed inside the bags, telling herself she would keep and sort them eventually. When she had the strength.

Next, they tackled the floor lamp and the desk chair. Valerie had to call a neighbor to help with the heavy wooden desk and was secretly thankful when two men showed so she did not have to be the one to take it apart, haul it up to the attic in pieces. The indents of its feet in the carpet were enough to blur her vision.

Castiel raced into his and Gabriel’s room, grabbing armfuls of stuffies and pillows as the two neighbors wrestled his bed through the doorway, setting it over the indents from the desk. Valerie was relieved when she could no longer see them.

Gabriel was dropped home just as she and Castiel put the finishing touches on the room; a set of twinkly Christmas lights that Castiel loved, his stuffies, Nellie (a fuzzy elephant in a top hat), Mr. Whiskers (a grey, striped cat with white paws) and Rexie (not technically a stuffie, but Castiel liked to sleep with the hard plastic T-Rex she had found at the thrift store all the same) perched at his pillow, waiting for him to come to bed. Valerie set him up with cubbies stolen from her own wardrobe until she could find him some drawers. His owl night light was plugged in right beside his bed, the very reason she had had to move Castiel into this room in the first place. Gabriel no longer needed a nightlight and found Castiel’s irritating when he was trying to sleep. they had had a huge blow-out, red-faced screaming, the merciless slamming of doors. When Valerie finally found the will to pull them apart, she found her youngest son stuffed in the linen closet. She sent them both straight to bed, no dinner. Not that either of them really deserved it. The fight was just too much.

Chuck’s office was not transformed, merely masked. Only Valerie felt the presence of her husband in that room, only Valerie understood the meaning of choosing new paint and wallpaper for the walls. Only Valerie remembered the feeling of the carpet beneath her as she and Chuck planned their life together on that very floor, the comforting warmth of it as he pressed her into it with a kiss. The view of the neighboring houses meant nothing to Castiel, though he was excited he could see his school if he squinted, but Valerie remembered that same view, accompanied by a safe embrace. How bright the future had seemed, filled with endless possibility, never a bump in the road, nor a mountain to climb. How naive they had been.

Gabriel felt the weight too, as he looked in from the doorway. His face as serious as she had ever seen it. She drew him close with an arm slung about his shoulders, squeezing him to her side, relieved when he did not duck out of her embrace.

“What do you think, Gabie?” she asked, forcing her tone light.

Castiel stared at his brother expectantly from his bed, where his legs dangled over the side, his heels hitting the drawers beneath with soft rhythmic thumps.

Gabriel’s shoulder shrugged beneath Valerie’s arm, and she squeezed him a little tighter.

“You wanna sleep in here tonight with Cassie? I can bring your mattress in, you might just fit.”

Gabriel stared up at her, and Valerie felt a rare flare of fondness for him. She knelt in front of him as he accepted her hug.

“I know it’s hard,” she said, “I know this was daddy’s room and you feel sad about it all changing, huh?” He nodded against her shoulder, burying his face ever deeper. She held him tighter as her heart clenched; Gabriel almost never sought her comfort.

“But change is good,” she said as Gabriel sniffled, “now Cassie has his own room, and guess what? So do you! And we can re-decorate yours, too if you’d like?” She pulled his face away from her shoulder, holding it in both her hands, smoothing her thumbs beneath his leaking golden eyes.

“Would you like that?” He nodded under her palms, wiping his nose with his sleeve as she ruffled at his hair. Castiel patted the bed beside him, and Gabriel joined him. Valerie watched her sons from the doorway, Castiel holding Gabriel’s hand and telling him about the lights above his bed. That night, after the boys had gone to bed, Gabriel’s mattress squeezed in on the floor, Valerie lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Her hands traced the empty space beside her, dragged Chuck’s pillow to her chest, where she buried her face, breathing deep. It no longer smelled of him and that was unbearable.

She made her way to the liquor cabinet, sat in Chuck’s old chair and drank whiskey until the sun came up.


	7. Zachariah

Zachariah Adler joined the congregation at St. Andrew’s just before Castiel started first grade and was immediately drawn to Valerie Krushnic. She was beautiful, if tired (a fact he later attributed to raising two young boys when he watched her pick them up from Sunday school). Over the next several months, Zachariah made a point to always open the door for Valerie on Sundays and sometimes she would look up at him with wide blue eyes and a small smile. She would be his.

Some Sundays, when Valerie was late to church, she brought the boys along with her and Zachariah, who’d taken up residence in the pew behind her, began to understand that Valerie Krushnic needed a man in her life, structure, rules.

Zachariah was doing the Lord’s work.

Once he had learned of Charles’s abandonment, he felt called by a higher power to do what he could to whip that oldest one into a good, God-fearing Christian. Gabriel liked to spit-shine Zachariah’s shoes with a napkin from Valerie’s handbag, and some mornings the only thing that kept him from giving the boy a swift kick, was the thought of raising him right. The youngest one, with an odd name, was on his way to sainthood, but his brother...his brother could do with a firm hand.

Zachariah caught Valerie one morning, in the parking lot of the church. She was frazzled, the older boy glaring daggers at her, his face scrunching tight, turning redder before he let go ear-bursting screams; fists pummeling at her thighs. Zachariah wondered how she was able to let him go on as he was. He noticed Castiel, struggling to open the car door on his own.

Valerie managed to pry Gabriel’s sticky fingers from her skirt and looked up with a fire in her eye Zachariah noticed even as he stepped behind the car nearest to him. He did not want her being embarrassed in front of him. He looked through the car windows as Valerie looked around herself at the women, old and young, staring at them, whispering to their husbands. Valerie had ahold of Gabriel at his wrist and wrenched open the door to the backseat; Castiel had managed to open the opposite door and had crawled into the back, waiting his turn.

Zachariah dodged between cars, moving closer, waiting for the right time to intervene. Valerie all but dragged Gabriel into the backseat, strapped him in roughly, then reached across him to buckle the belt over Castiel’s seat. Castiel wailed with the  _ click _ of the buckle; she had briefly caught the soft skin of his elbow in the clip. And as Castiel screamed and yelled, so too did his brother. She rescued the pinched skin, furious red and bruising fast, shaking hands re-buckling him with more care than she had patience. She slammed the door shut, muffling their screams and pressed her forehead into the warm metal of the car, mumbled, “I can’t-” to herself, “I can’t do this anymore.”

She turned and jumped when she saw Zachariah behind her and he put on his most sympathetic smile despite his disappointment with her sons’ behavior, with her behavior.

“They look to be a handful. My sister has two boys. They can be a holy terror,” he said with a knowing smile, as Valerie pawed at her reddening cheeks, tucking a strand of soft dark hair behind her ear. “I’m Zachariah Adler. I sit in the pew behind you. I think your oldest shined my shoes for me during the sermon.” Valerie looked down at his shoes. “Spit-shined, if you catch my meaning,” finished with a wink.

An attractive blush rose on her cheeks as she stammered out, “I can’t believe he...I’m so sorry. It won’t happen again. I’ll have a talk with him.” She made to swing open the door, the fire in her eyes rekindled; Zachariah thought it was very becoming. He put a hand to the door, stopping her from getting any farther.

“Perhaps I can help. Would you like to follow me for lunch? My treat.” She smiled, shy, her nod a quick, impulsive thing. Zachariah beamed in return, a job well done.

Valerie eased herself into the driver’s seat and crashed her head against the steering wheel again and again. The boys eventually settled, intermittent sniffling aside, Gabriel hiccupping on his indignation. There was a moment, when she glanced back at her sons’ faces, shiny with tears a snot oozing from their noses, when she felt sick, considered leaving them behind, walking away, or taking them out of the car and driving off; to another state, off a cliff. Valerie was immediately scared of herself. Of her thoughts. Leaving her sons behind? How could she? She was not this person, callous, cruel, malicious. Calculating. She had never harmed her boys, never. But, then Castiel flinched from her when she leaned between the front seats to comfort him, how could she make him feel like he couldn’t trust her?

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, hoping for forgiveness, but she was met only with silence. She pulled from the parking spot when she saw Zachariah’s car roll to a stop in front of them and followed him to lunch.

Zachariah moved in with them three Sundays later and Castiel liked him, thrived under the stability of routine and structure. Gabriel hated his stinking guts and told Valerie on several occasions that he did not want Zachariah around them anymore. Valerie was quick to defend Zachariah and often told Gabriel to shut his mouth unless he had something nice to say.

Castiel liked to go to bed by eight p.m. because he had school, but Gabriel stayed up late into the night. He crept through the house to the landing at the top of the stairs and listened to Zachariah tell his mother that she, "…must do a better job with the boys. _ " _ Gabriel did not like the tone of voice Zachariah used with his mother and, in the daylight hours, refused to speak to Zachariah, though he still obeyed him.

He gritted his teeth when Zachariah forced him to finish all his food, especially the stuff he hated. He bit his tongue when Zachariah loomed over him, making sure his homework was all completed before he could go play, correcting each mistake with a put-upon sigh and a muttered insult of Gabriel’s intelligence.

Most of all, Gabriel hated Zachariah’s demands; to always call him ‘sir’, to ask to leave the table, to do whatever he said whenever he said it. Especially when it was something stupid like sitting still in church. Gabriel liked it under the pews, though he and Castiel were growing too big to fit and had to spend their time flat on their bellies. Castiel on the other hand, preened under the attention. Zachariah poked and prodded at Gabriel; “Why can’t you be more like your brother?”, “Castiel’s going places, Gabriel, you see that?” Everything turned sour in Gabriel’s mouth.

He missed his dad, his hugs, his chunky cardigans, the way he would ruffle Gabriel’s hair and nearly always initiated a wrestling match. Zachariah never played. When he had first arrived, Gabe and Cas had been so excited, piled a small selection of their favorite board games to play with him in the middle of the lounge. Zachariah simply looked down his nose, brushed them off like swatting a fly.

***

Valerie came home from her shift one evening, several months into Zachariah’s residency. The man in question was waiting for her at the kitchen table with two glasses of red wine and a look that told her she had better tread lightly. She hung her purse and keys on the little rack Zachariah had installed to keep her things from the countertops and chair backs and smiled at him as warmly as she could. She inquired about his day at Sandover and he brushed off the question.

“Come, sit with me.”

Valerie made her way around to the table and sat to his right. Her place. When Zachariah moved in with them, he had insisted on sitting at the head of the table and Valerie had readily agreed. She was eager to start over with him. Family dinners, someone who could help with homework, play catch. There were times when she missed Chuck terribly. He had been so good with Gabriel. Took him away when she needed a quiet moment to scream into her pillows or go shopping without him hanging all over her. Zachariah was starting to make progress with Gabriel, he was quiet and often went straight to his room, did not talk back to her nearly as often. She could breathe sometimes.

“I heard something at church last week that I can’t seem to get off my mind. I was hoping you could help,” he said, taking a small sip of the wine and nudging the second glass toward Valerie. She took a drink and held the glass, not wanting to interrupt. He hadn’t asked her a direct question and did not like it when she spoke out of turn. He was teaching her patience and she reaped the rewards, especially when it came to the boys.

“I’ll be direct,” he said, and she was not sure she liked his tone. A pit was starting to open in her gut and she drank more of the wine, only breaking eye-contact to drink. Zachariah was particular about how she looked at him.

“Are you still married to Charles?” There was righteous fire simmering in his gaze and her stomach gave an awful lurch.

“He sent the papers,” she replied honestly, eyes drifting to the glass as she turned it in her hands, “but I couldn’t sign them.”

At the cool touch of his hand to her arm, she shakily resumed eye contact. “Where are the papers now, Valerie?”

“In our safe deposit box.” She finished her wine. Glanced away to look for the bottle.

“We will go there tomorrow, and you will sign the papers. I will not have you bound to that poor excuse of a man for another second.”

“What? Zachariah, no, I -”

“I will not stand for disobedience, Valerie.”

“And I won’t annul a marriage that gave me three sons,” the retort tumbled quickly between her teeth, but she restrained the hand that desperately wanted to cover her mouth. Zachariah had demanded many things of her, but this she would not do.

“Two. Sons. You have two.” The tears came hot and sharp, burned her eyes. She had thought him a man of God, but how could he spew such hateful things? What had she done to warrant such barbedness? She gripped the wine glass until it gave beneath her fingers. She did not want to break it in front of him.

He glanced to her hand, saw that he was losing her. He couldn’t let her slip now.

“I’m sorry, Val. You know how sometimes you forget? I just needed to be sure you’re here with me. Are you here, Val?” He was holding out his hands to her and his face was soft around the edges.

Valerie took a deep breath and nodded. She did forget sometimes, when she drank during the soaps, that Michael wouldn’t be coming home to her. Zachariah caught her once, curled in the armchair with a lock of Michael’s hair. She was murmuring a lullaby and rocking with her feet up. He threatened to throw away her treasure. She never let him see her with it again.

“Please think about how this looks, Valerie. We’re living in sin in the eyes of the Lord. I don’t want our souls, and the souls of your boys, damned for eternity. Do you understand?” She met his eyes and he knew she would see reason. He was pleased with himself and his progress with her.

“I do understand how it looks,” she said carefully, misgivings holding her fast in the face of reason, “but I’m not certain God would want me to go back on a promise I made.”

Zachariah’s immaculate mask slipped. He did not like to be questioned. When his employees spoke out of turn, they were dealt with strictly and without mercy. 

“If it is a question of uncertainty, perhaps the decision is best left to those who can make them soundly.”

“Zachariah, I am capable of making this decision for myself. Please respect that.”

He scoffed, swirling the contents of his glass, “How much have you had to drink this week, Valerie?” She opened her mouth to answer, eyes on his, but he continued on, “And do not lie to me. I know about your little stash in the linen closet upstairs. If you can’t be honest about your problems, how can I trust you to fix them, hm?” Valerie sat back in the chair, he hated it when she slumped, but she couldn’t hold herself up under his fire and brimstone.

“You can have the night. I’ll stay over at my place. We will go to the bank tomorrow, and you will sign the papers. Then, we’ll get on with the rest of it.” He stood, towered over her for a moment, then made his way to the door. Valerie followed him with her eyes, turning in the chair to keep him in her sight. “The boys are in their rooms. They’ve been fed. I’ll see you at eight sharp. Wear that nice sundress with the blue flowers. It brings out your eyes.”

Valerie sat at her place until she had finished what was left of Zachariah’s wine. Then she stood, plodded up the stairs and pulled a bottle at random from the linen closet. Valerie opened the bottle on the way to her bedroom and let the vodka burn her throat. She flung open the closet doors and hated herself when they banged against the walls. Her church dresses, bought and paid for with Zachariah’s money, hung next to his pressed suits, her low heels neatly aligned with his dress shoes. He had a pair for every suit. She spared a thought for her father as she ran her fingers along all of Zachariah’s suit cuffs, a distant memory of him catching her in his wardrobe. She must have been very young, for the only detail she recalled was him towering over her, turning on their mother when she intervened.

She drank from the bottle and found the blue flowered dress, hung it neatly on the hook attached to the inside of the closet door. Zachariah had one installed on her side so that he could set out her clothing before he left for the office. He liked her to look nice when she went to work, even though the store’s smock covered most of her outfit. He liked her to wear the white strappy heels with the blue flowered dress, always complimented her legs when he saw her in them.

Valerie woke the next morning to an email message from Zachariah, on the phone he had gotten for her after he moved in with them. He felt safer knowing where she was and often had her check in with him. Valerie dragged herself from bed, ran a quick shower and dried her hair with the fancy mousse that made her curls bounce. It was important that she look her best, and she was thankful Zachariah thought to give her extra time to get ready.

Valerie had to pull the boys from bed, Castiel dressed without trouble and Gabriel was too tired on a Saturday morning to put up much fuss. She fixed them toast with grape jelly (not jam, never jam) and orange juice. She was still the only Krushnic who drank milk. She was happy to sit with her two boys in relative silence. Gabriel asked to watch TV, but the blaring of Zachariah’s car horn at the top of the hour, put an end to his request.

Zachariah had a shiny black car that matched his shiny black shoes. The car ride was silent after he complimented Valerie's dress. Zachariah thought that driving with music was too distracting and NPR had a liberal agenda, though he did listen to  _ The Writer's Almanac _ in the evenings. They pulled into the Credit Union parking lot just as they opened and the four of them filed into the lobby, oldest to youngest.

They made their way to the teller and Zachariah requested to have a safe deposit box opened. He waited, hands clasped behind his back as Valerie drummed her fingers against the counter. Gabriel pulled at her dress, wanting to sit down, “It’s  _ so boring _ in here.” Valerie waved to the short table set up for coloring and Gabriel gave her a look.

“There’s a TV over there, remember? You can watch cartoons while you wait for us.”

“Go ahead, Gabriel, your mother and I need to do this alone,” Zachariah added, shooing the boys away as the manager came around the stand with a set of keys and a, “Right this way, Sir.”

Gabriel and Castiel took up residence in the child’s waiting area, and Gabriel pushed the ON button for the tiny television set. His finger hovered over the volume button, but Castiel asked him to keep it down, said that he wanted to color. Gabriel, who loved Castiel more than he loved terrorizing the Credit Union staff, pulled a shortened chair as close to the television set as he could without going cross-eyed and watched cartoons.

Castiel liked the color pages at the Credit Union because they were all piggy bank themed and he liked the wide-open space where he could add his own embellishments. The tellers also did not mind if he colored more than one, so by the time Zachariah stormed out of building a while later, Castiel had finished three pages: an x-ray version where the coins were visible, a hula pig in a grass skirt and lei, and one where the piggy bank was dressed as Batman on top of GCPD. He was finishing the Bat-Signal when his mother came into view, escorted by the nice security guard and a teller with a box of tissues. Zachariah burst from the doors without so much as a cursory glance.

Valerie’s mascara made lines down her face and she rubbed at her eyes with a tissue, smearing the makeup into a bandit’s mask. Castiel tapped Gabriel on the shoulder and he unglued his eyes from  _ Tom and Jerry Tales _ , took one look at Valerie and turned back to the television.

Castiel hugged Valerie around her thighs as the teller promised to stay with her until the taxi came to pick them up. They waited in the lobby and Valerie ran her fingers through Castiel’s hair, a self-soothe she enjoyed when they curled together in the armchair at home, reading or watching the soaps. The cab came to pick up the three Krushnics and the nice security guard paid their fare. The teller hung Castiel’s coloring pages in the window.

The next day, Valerie let her boys sleep in while she gathered each pristine suit into its separate garment bag, boxed up all of Zachariah’s shoes, each wrapped in a layer of tissue. She took care with his cufflinks and watches, left in a valet box on the dresser. All of the dresses he bought her went into one large trash bag she pulled from the kitchen cabinet downstairs. She was determined to have it all gone. 

It took three trips to the garage to pack everything, then one more to half-carry her sleepy boys across the lawn to Mrs. Baker. Valerie drove the shortest route to St. Andrew’s where she met Mrs. Wilkinson at the back doors near the food pantry while the not-so-nice church ladies sang songs of worship. 

The two women made a trip with Valerie’s belonging to the donation center together. Then, Mrs. Wilkinson gathered all of Zachariah’s possessions from the trunk of Valerie’s car and into her arms. They exchanged goodbyes and promises to meet for coffee whenever they could. Mrs. Wilkinson promised to return Zachariah’s belongings after the sermon, but as Valerie pulled her car away from St. Andrews for the last time, Mrs. Wilkinson dropped the entire lot into the donation center. 


	8. Ghost Stories

In Gabriel Krushnic's honest opinion, Halloween was the best holiday ever; not only was there more candy than he could ever possibly consume, and his tricks were also greatly encouraged. Castiel was less enthusiastic which worked perfectly in Gabriel's favor. Aside from blue suckers, the weirdo always gave Gabriel his entire haul. This may have been a penance of sorts, to keep the tricks from landing on him, but Gabriel knew it was Castiel's way of saying _I love you_ without having to speak the words aloud.

That year, Gabriel had talked Valerie into driving into University Heights to the rich neighborhood where the residents got competitive with their holiday cheer. Halloween kicked off the season, the homeowners' association had mandatory decoration guidelines and the tidy mansions were done up in themes spanning Nightmare Before Christmas (too mainstream) to The Haunted Mansion (tastefully done, of course). Twice per year, on the weekend before trick-or-treating and the two weeks before Christmas, folks came from all over Wisconsin to drive through the neighborhood, crawled at two miles per hour, windows down and jaws agape to be scared by the resident clowns and monsters, or served hot chocolate by elves and reindeer.

It was bombastic, elaborate, and the kind of commercial excess only America could provide. Gabriel _lived_ for it. Glued his eyes to the local newscast, watched with rapt attention as anchors were scared out of their wits by grim reapers, vampires, and members of the Addams family.

Gabriel had begged Valerie annually to strike up the old family tradition; Chuck always took Gabriel and Michael to the ritzy neighborhoods. Dressed as a pint-sized Wayne and Garth, then a pineapple and banana (it was a different time) Chuck paraded his two boys through the manicured lawns while Valerie stayed home to pass out candy to their own, modest crowd.

That year, Valerie finally relented because Gabriel was old enough to keep an eye on Castiel, and Valerie was thrilled to have a night away from them. She had plans to lock the door, turn off every light in the house, and close herself up in the avocado bathroom for a nice soak in the stained tub. Gabriel's mouth had actually dropped open when she said yes, but he quickly recovered, dragging Castiel upstairs to plan their costumes. There were only three days until the big night.

In the end, Valerie gave the boys bus fare instead of driving, and the boys pulled their pillowcases from their beds; it was that or the kiddy pails they had from Biggerson's circa 1998. Gabriel was honestly thrilled for Halloween – Castiel had only ever been to University Heights twice before Valerie called the whole thing off, and Gabriel wanted desperately to share this with Castiel (the double haul at the end of the night did not hurt, either).

They had managed to throw together decent costumes, too. Gabriel had fashioned a convincing Loki from a set of green sheets he had found in the dollar bin at the thrift store and some clever papier-mache. His literal crowning achievement, the two-horned helmet he crafted, dusted gold with eye-shadow he found in Valerie’s makeup tote under the bathroom cabinet. Castiel kept the comic theme and managed a convincing Constantine costume featuring an old trench coat and tie left behind by Chuck. Gabriel had picked both costumes and found digging through his father's dresser drawers to be a much more emotionally taxing process than he had expected.

It took the boys an hour on public transit to get to University Heights, and Gabriel lost count of the number of times someone asked if he was horny. “Laugh it up, Chuckles,” was his only reply, proud of himself. If the kids that made fun of him ended up with holes in the bottom of their candy bags, courtesy of the pocket knife Gabriel kept on him, no one had to know.

The bus dropped them off just outside of the stadium, and Gabriel bounded off the steps, a more sedate Castiel following along.

“Well, Cassie, this is it! We’ll have to hoof it to University, but then it’s all the candy we can eat!”

Castiel looked skeptical at best, he had not inherited their father’s sweet tooth and the entire business of Halloween left him feeling a bit uneasy. Gabriel always liked to prank him on the holidays, their severity solely dependent upon the amount of candy he gave as an offering to his brother-turned-god-of-mischief. 

Castiel recalled a particularly nasty Easter Sunday which resulted in Gabriel injecting the church’s lamb cake with red food coloring he had found in the food pantry.

Castiel had been in charge of decorating the cake earlier that morning. Valerie trusted him to decorate more than he ate. This was followed by a rousing egg hunt after which Castiel refused to share his Cadbury eggs with his brother. They were the only chocolate candy he liked. Valerie, proud of Castiel’s work, told anyone who would listen what a good job he had done, and all on his own. The not-so-nice church ladies, eager to judge Valerie’s potluck contribution, screeched in holy terror upon cutting the cake. Gabriel burst into childish guffaws and Castiel, face as red as the bleeding lamb, locked himself in the men's room, and refused to come out until Valerie had pulled the car to the nearest exit.

Castiel looked to Gabriel’s pillowcase which jangled suspiciously. Unsure if he really wanted to know the answer or not, he ventured a guess, “Do you have candy already?” Castiel honestly wouldn’t put it past Gabriel to have started without him. Gabriel stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, other trick-or-treaters pushing past them. He opened the pillowcase and Castiel peered inside: two rolls of single-ply toilet paper from the gas station down the road from their house, several licked lollipops with their wrappers rewound, and all the cigarette lighters from their house.

Castiel looked up, alarmed, “You’re not gonna set anything on fire, right?” He did not think Gabriel would go so far, but he had been distancing himself from Valerie more since she had added day drinking to her schedule.

Gabriel gave a mirthful sneer, “‘Course not. Just thought Valerie could do without a light for once.”

Castiel’s shoulders relaxed from their perch near his ears, “And the suckers?”

“For those rich chuckleheads with the nice costumes.”

“I can’t believe you’d give up sugar for them,” Castiel deadpanned.

“Some things are worth more than sugar, little bro.”

Gabriel took off again, nearly skipping his way to the entrance of University Heights’s Halloween Town. Castiel stood near the stone entryway, decorated with scarecrows, cobwebs, and pumpkins so large, Castiel was certain he could fit inside them. Gabriel turned to tell Castiel to put some hustle in his bustle but stopped at the look on his brother’s face. _This_ was worth it. The bus ride, the lame jokes (eventual TP-ing).

The look on Castiel’s face was one Gabriel hoped he would see more often as they got older. Gabriel made a little pact with himself to always do anything to make that kid smile.

Though, candy was not going to gather itself.

“C’mon bucko, we’re losing daylight!”

Castiel shook himself from his Halloween daydream and jogged to catch up with Gabriel who was pointing out the vignettes each house made and loudly criticizing them all.

The Krushnic brothers had made out like bandits, their pillowcases filled to the brim with, “Full bars, Cassie, holy _crap_!” They had lost all daylight, but the buses were running late, and Gabriel decided it was time to bust out the tricks.

“Let’s put this single-ply to its only good use,” Gabriel crowed. Castiel’s eyes went a bit owlish, and he shushed his brother, nervous that the adults roaming the neighborhood with infant pumpkins might hear them. Gabriel handed Castiel a roll and demonstrated how to twirl it for maximum distance.

They stood poised on the side of a two-story mansion that was sure to make a charming gingerbread house come Christmas. Red on the bottom, yellow on top, screened-in porch visible from the eight-car driveway, and more flowering bushes than the Krushnics had toilet paper to bestow.

Gabriel and Castiel roamed the sidewalk, strategizing the best angle for maximum coverage, when a lanky boy, older than Gabriel with spiky blond hair and bolts in his neck shouted at them from the driveway. Castiel, blue eyes bright with fear, turned to run away, his gut clenching, but only managed to knock into a second, stocky red-haired boy closer to Gabriel in age.

“Grab ‘em, Roscoe!” shouted Frankenstein’s monster from the driveway. 

The redhead made to grab Castiel, but he dodged, and Gabriel lunged between them, made a swing for Roscoe, and connected hard with the boy’s nose. Roscoe doubled over in pain and Gabriel took a second too long for his victory dance; the older boy ran down the driveway to grab Castiel, arms pinned behind his back.

This was not the way Gabriel had planned the night to end.

“Hey, fellas,” he said, hands raised in a placating gesture, a charming smile plastered on, “Look, I’m sorry about your nose. You know how it is with brothers. Roscoe, right? Here, lemme help you up there.”

Gabriel hooked an arm around the red-headed boy’s waist and hauled him up with surprising strength. The boy listed into Gabriel’s side then managed a shaky step on his own feet. Castiel had gone pliant in the monster’s hold, unwilling to risk further ire. 

The blond caught Roscoe’s eye and split into a wide grin. Gabriel gave a silent gulp, already planning his get-out-of-trouble speech with these kids’ parents.

“Mean hook you got, man,” Roscoe said, extending a hand to Gabriel.

“Uh, thanks. I’m Gabriel,” he said, introducing himself with a firm handshake, well and truly shocked by the turn of events. The blond let go of Castiel who shook out his arms. “That’s my little brother, Cas.”

Roscoe was still shaking Gabriel’s hand when he nodded to the blond, “Frankenstein’s monster over there is my cousin, Eli.”

“And you two were going to TP our house,” Eli said with a mock glare. “Not the most original prank, fellas.”

“It’s a classic,” was Gabriel’s rebuttal and Castiel rolled his eyes.

“You want to come in? Roscoe needs some ice for his nose and you boys look like you could use a drink.”

Castiel thought Eli was being a little dramatic for a fifteen-year-old but followed the other boys through the porch, loud with partygoers and spooky music. They walked through a dining room, breakfast nook, and lounge area before they made it to the kitchen, which Castiel estimated he could fit his own kitchen in three times over, and that excluded the breakfast nook which was the size of their living room. Dark wood cabinets wrapped around the room and the sink was so deep, Castiel imagined he would have no trouble using it as a bathtub. There were people packed into these rooms, too and every available counter space was piled high with desert tins and crock pots.

“I’ve never seen this much food in one place,” Castiel whispered to Gabriel while Eli grabbed a blue gel ice pack from the freezer hidden behind more cabinetry. Gabriel had his mouth full of cake made out to be a graveyard scene, complete with molded sugar headstones. Castiel plucked one from Gabriel’s slice and pressed it to the roof of his mouth, letting the sugar slowly melt away.

“The lunch ladies could learn a thing or two,” Gabriel said with his mouth full of chocolate dirt. There was a half-masticated gummy worm in there, too, Castiel noticed, managing not to heave.

“You boys from the neighborhood,” Eli asked, pressing the cloth napkin-wrapped gel pack into Roscoe’s hand. The boy held the pack up his nose, eyes already starting to blacken.

“We’re up near La Follette,” Castiel said. Gabriel elbowed him roughly, but he did not understand what he had said wrong.

“How unfortunate,” Eli commented, and Gabriel wound himself up for another fight. “You’re welcome to hang out here if you want. We’ve got a David Yaeger marathon going in the carriage house.”

“Time to slice and dice!” Gabriel exclaimed just as Castiel said, “We have to catch the bus.” Gabriel looked at Castiel as if he had sprouted wings.

“We can drive you home in the morning,” Eli shrugged. “Do you need to call your parents?”

He was already fishing an honest-to-god iPhone out of his pocket as if it were a piece of candy, instead of a tiny computer, and Castiel had to work to keep his mouth closed. Even Gabriel looked like he was finally in over his head. The older Krushnic shook his masked head and Eli shrugged, slipping his _phone_ back into his _pocket_.

“Cool, we’ve gotta head back outside. I’ll introduce you to my little brother,” Eli said. Gabriel grabbed a second slice of cake and a handful of artisan lollipops on his way through the three eating areas and back to the porch.

The brothers spent the rest of Halloween watching every horror movie marathon available on satellite TV. Roscoe took the boys’ teasing over his blackening eye in his stride and Gabriel ate so much candy, he actually managed to throw up in the carriage house’s very own bathroom. Castiel learned that Eli’s costume was an homage to his family heritage; Eli had traced the family’s roots all the way back to the Black Plague. Castiel was a little dubious, thinking the story must be stretched for the holiday, but Cyrus, the youngest Styne, dragged out the family tree, and there it was in black and white.

The next morning, Eli, Roscoe, and Cyrus dropped the boys off near their high school because Gabriel did not want the Stynes to see their shabby home. The Kruschnics were extended an open invitation to the Styne residence, and Gabriel was more than willing to take them up on the offer.

The Krushinics and the Stynes spent the next several years growing closer, causing mischief and gaining a reputation as a bunch of low-down-cheap-little-punks. Gabriel and Castiel certainly needed the escape.

***

One day, when Michael would have been in middle school and Valerie was setting up automatic bill pay at the Credit Union, Charles Shurley saw a ghost.

He was two sheets to the wind and had taken a pill from a homeless veteran that made his brain feel fuzzy, but Chuck was fairly sure he had seen a ghost in his alley. He remembered it vividly because the family whose exhaust vent he slept beneath had moved out three days before and the new tenants used a different detergent and he missed his first son. As he drifted in and out of consciousness with tear-stained cheeks and shaking hands, his mind conjured a solid black figure amongst the filth; it rose from a puddle, formed from the dripping air conditioning units hanging from windows above him, and Chuck recalled how bright the stars were in the narrow strip of sky between the buildings which towered above him.

Just as the solid black figure began to approach, slow like molasses, a blackbird swooped from its fire escape perch to peck the place where the figure’s eyes should have been. The figure stumbled back and Chuck saw, with perfect clarity, that the figure made no impact on its surroundings. The puddle remained still and there was no sound as the figure fell back into the front of the Dumpster at the back of his alley. Instead, it simply vanished, and Chuck was sure it'd been a ghost. Drunk, high, and scared shitless, Chuck stumbled from the alley and spent the night in the shrubby park with the birds. He felt much safer there.

In the morning, awake with the sun and a hangover he was surprised he could feel, Chuck managed the six-block trek from the shrubby park to the Salvation Army's morning service. He stood with men and women and waited for the mission doors to open for breakfast. He ate rubbery pancakes with too much syrup and remembered Gabriel's ruddy cheeks and sticky hands, needing a shower himself after sacrificing his greying curls to his son's chubby, tacky fingers. That had been a good day.

After breakfast, the mission herded its charges into a small chapel where Chuck (infrequently because of his typical morning routine) would sit in quiet contemplation and think about how much Castiel and Michael looked like Valerie and how desperately he missed his family. The morning after the ghost, head pounding and stomach full and roiling, Chuck plucked a pen and tithe envelope from the prayer stand at the back of the chapel and wrote down his encounter with the solid black figure and recalled the blackbird that had surely saved his life. And once he started, Chuck found that could not stop writing, embellishing the tale, spinning it into something which required many more envelopes and a few single-sided brochures advertising the mission's community outreach services.

When he stumbled back into the bright daytime, nursing a coffee in a thin, Styrofoam cup whose edge he had chewed into fraying, Chuck sat in the shrubby park and finished his ghost story: fifteen envelopes, carefully opened at the seams to make larger pages, printed front and back in teeny, messy script and four-and-a-half brochures advertising Alcoholics Anonymous meetings on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Castiel had been born on a Thursday.

Chuck tucked the story, each page numbered to maintain the proper order, into the folds of his jackets and slept in the park again for three nights until his first Tuesday meeting.

Chuck helped set up and tear down after his Thursday meeting, sixteen days sober, and on his way out of the mission's crowded basement, borrowed a plain white envelope and a stamp from the meeting coordinator, explained that he had, "Had an idea for a story," and needed to send the first draft to his friend in publishing. The coordinator, a very nice man, with an impressive mustache, named Sonny, smiled at Chuck and wished him, "Good luck, brother." Chuck thought that Sonny might have been the first person to smile at him in some time. Signed and sealed, Chuck realized he had no return address, and listed the mission as his residence.

***

Sera Siege sat in her small-but-posh office in Chicago, shocked to be reading the name printed neatly at the left corner of the plain, if finger-smudged, envelope that had been delivered to her office by the polite but dim mail clerk (he always called her ma'am, and she hated him a little for it). Sera tucked her blonde hair behind her ear, opened the envelope and raised a brow at its, rather messy, contents. Never one to judge by appearances, Sera took the time to read, then re-read, then read again, Charles Krushnic’s ghost story. She made small edits with red pen on the blue envelopes and she made small edits with blue pen on the red brochures. She stacked each page carefully and bound them with a paperclip, placed them in a clean envelope with the original envelope and jotted down the return address.

At five p.m. that evening, Sera Siege drove to the address and described Charles Krushnic to a very nice man, with an impressive mustache, named Sonny, who broke into a smile and told her to, "Come back on Tuesday, same time." Sera thanked him with a smile and spent the longest weekend of her life waiting for Tuesday.

***

Chuck thought it might be a good idea to change his name because his family would look for him if he became a famous author like Sera seemed to think he would, and he felt they would still be better off without him. So, Chuck Shurley became Carver Edlund - the street with the sweet-smelling dryer exhaust vent and the name of his first protagonist - and his new identification cards were sent to the home of Sera Siege of Naperville, Illinois. Chuck also found out during the whole ordeal that he was still married and cried in his office-slash-bedroom (formerly Sera's guestroom) and wrote another ghost story about a woman in white. It was his first best-seller.

***

When Gabriel was in the ninth grade and Valerie was dating a not-so-nice mortician, Castiel brought in the mail, which would not have been noteworthy, but for a single-window envelope, tucked between the cable bill and the Woodman's circular with, what could only have been, a check inside of it. Thinking it must have been a dummy one from Publisher's Clearing House or the like, Valerie nearly trashed it and the circulars with the previous evening’s tuna casserole, when the return address caught her attention: Flying Wiccan Press. The name niggled at her brain and Valerie might have put together the pieces, had she not been drinking since before the soaps finished.

Valerie tore at the envelope, standing in the kitchen near the overflowing sink, nails catching on the tacky glue, ripped it open in three places, before yanking the check from its paper prison. Valerie was not sure what a royalty check was, but she took it to the Credit Union and deposited it right into the savings fund she kept for the boys, fingers crossed that it would not bounce and secret kept from the boyfriend who liked to spend Valerie's money on cheap weed she did not allow him to smoke in the house.


	9. Losing It

Valerie braced herself against the cold kitchen counter, resting her burning cheek on it and sighing in relief. Vodka always made her flush. Her head spun in the dark, and she thought, distractedly, that maybe turning on a light would help with that. She did not realize quite how much she had drunk as she stuffed the two-four of Stoli beneath the sink, covering it with the remainders of the rejects from the boys’ ravioli dinner. Her stomach lurched at the smell and she shot up quickly, gagging over the sink. She looked to her right, out the dark little window. She saw her neighbors, the Bakers. Perfect family lit in their beautiful, spotless kitchen. Mrs. Baker holding their first son above her head as he reached for her glasses. The smiles on their faces were enough to sour Valerie’s mouth past the sterile taste of the vodka.

The house was so dark, so quiet. The boys must have put themselves to bed, she did not remember anything past the ding of the microwave, calling the boys to eat. How was it that she was unable to remember… she was willing to bet anything Mrs. Baker never forgot her son’s homework when it came time or to pack him a lunch. She probably wrote little notes to him too, for him to open and smile at. Hell, she probably did that for her husband, too. Her husband who was still around, because Mrs. Baker did not scare people away. Valerie could not make them stay.

Things had gotten steadily worse in the five years since Zachariah left, taking his structure and his discipline with him. Gabriel never really spoke to her anymore. He got homework, but never told her what it was, or asked for her help. Not that she could have helped. The rides back from school were quiet. Castiel would still tell her about his day when prompted, but Gabriel would simply stare out of the car window, making a beeline for his bedroom before she had even thrown the car in park. Castiel would follow him, always did. And Valerie was left alone.

When had Gabriel stopped asking her to play with him? When had she stopped responding? Somewhere along the way, they had forgotten one another; they had forgotten that they loved one another. There had been a time when Gabriel was so demanding on her time, her attention, that she snapped. But now, of course, she missed it. She missed him dreadfully.

She snuck upstairs, legs wobbly and head spinning; she eased open their bedroom doors. Castiel first, of course, her little angel. He always slept curled tight, with one hand outstretched, his fingers curled into a loose fist. he had slept like that for as long as she could remember.

She doubled back, weaved her way down the hall to Gabriel’s room, but her hand stalled over the knob. She bit her lip and pressed an ear against the door. She could hear his breathing, a steady in and out, remembered watching him doing just that in his crib when they had first brought him home. She had stood there, watching him, willing herself to feel something. She had slept against that same crib when Michael had slept there, her finger caught in his little palm. But with Gabriel… it had all been different. She worked hard to love him because it took work. She had given up feeling guilty about it; she had made herself sick with it in the first few years. The resentment, the emptiness she felt. With Michael, it was so easy to love him, his gurgles and his smiles. But Gabriel grated, he tested her, and beneath all the frustration and the shame, Valerie just felt… numb. A deep, hollow, nothingness.

She leaned her forehead against the door, smoothing her hands against the grain as she whispered her apologies beneath a slurred breath. The ones she could never say to his face.

She slunk back to the kitchen, her shame and her guilt coasting on the back of the alcohol, screaming in her ears. There was nothing she could grasp and keep hold of, clutching at her life like smoke. Who did she have left? Who still cared? Because she was not even sure  _ she _ cared about herself anymore.

She stared out the window again, the Baker’s kitchen now as dark as hers. Her reflection was plain to see, and she looked upon herself in disgust, eyes welling as she stared at her lanky hair, once bright, curled with life. Her sunken eyes ringed heavily with sleepless nights. Her mouth dragged grim at the corners. She couldn’t remember the last time she had smiled with any semblance of genuineness. Nobody loved her, and she was unsure if she cared.

Her hand reached to the knife block before she had told it to, her head swimming with anxious white noise She watched her reflection grab a fistful of her hair, just beneath her jaw. Watched herself saw away at it with the knife, dark hair piling about her feet. And she felt nothing.

In the morning, the boys tried to be discreet with their staring, she could hear them whisper to one another when she turned her back from the dining room table.

“Eat your breakfast,” she mumbled to the kettle as it boiled, the sound enough to add a sharp edge to the headache she nursed. The whispering stopped.

***

Gabriel signed a pledge in the fifth grade to remain drug and alcohol-free. According to the rambunctious ten-year-old, the officer from the Dane County Police Department, “Looked just like  _ Elvis _ , sideburns, and  _ everything _ .” Gabriel made a second pledge that evening, over his Biggerson’s burger and fries, that he was going to grow the coolest sideburns when he hit puberty. Valerie drank more wine.

As the weeks worn on, Gabriel wore on Valerie’s nerves. He was a fount of knowledge, spewing facts on the way to and from school, to Castiel, kids in church, perfect strangers; Valerie couldn’t escape him. “Did you know too much alcohol can slow down the body and lead to coma or even  _ death _ ?” Castiel gasped and Valerie asked Gabriel to please keep his voice down, they were in public. Gabriel continued at a slightly lower volume, “Did you know that Ritalin and antidepressants are the top drugs of choice for kids ages 4 to 12?”

A woman pushing her Woodman’s cart gave them a look, and Valerie grabbed Gabriel by his forearm, pulling him close, “ _ Quit it. You’re causing a scene. Be quiet until we’re back in the car,” _ she hissed into his ear, releasing him. He pulled his arm from her grip and she had a wild moment of wanting to hang on to him, shake him, but she let go, her fingers leaving a stark impression in his skin. Castiel was farther down the aisle, he hated when she was upset. He had already picked the store brand Hamburger Helper from the shelf that was next on her shopping list. He glanced back to them, saw Valerie had released a red-faced Gabriel and made his way quietly back to the cart. She smiled at him, tried to salvage the trip, but it was a hollow thing. He saw right through it. The pasta shaking in its box and another shopper’s squeaky cart wheel the only sounds.

The ride home was sour. Gabriel’s mood filled the car like a noxious cloud and Valerie’s patience wore thin. She tried twice to get Castiel to tell them more about Rachel, his little girlfriend, desperate for good news, but Castiel kept silent, melancholy. Valerie parked in the garage, eager to be done with the afternoon.

Inside the kitchen, between one cabinet and next, Gabriel picked up his earlier thread and a box of store brand Pop-Tarts and said to Castiel, loud and enthusiastic, “They showed us these pictures of  _ brains _ today, Cassie! There was a healthy brain and a brain from an alcoholic – that’s someone who abuses alcohol. Officer Safety said that heavy alcohol use is binge drinking on five or more days in the past month and the binge drinking is having four drinks in two hours. The alcoholic brain was  _ fried _ , Cassie. For real, they said that parts of the ‘decision-making and empathy nodes’ were completely  _ decimated _ .” Castiel had no idea what Gabriel was talking about and tilted his head, birdlike.

The boys heard Valerie slam the remote down hard on the side table in frustration, utter disbelief coloring her words, “Enough, Gabriel! I don’t want to hear it!” Her sobs filled the silence, her two boys staring slack-jawed at her. Gabriel was first to recover.

“You don’t  _ have _ to hear it,” he said, arms crossed tightly across his growing chest, puffed in pride. It stoked the flames that Valerie tried her hardest day after day to temper.

“You don’t talk to me like that,” she ground, stalking into the kitchen, her own actions feeling out-of-body as she watched Castiel gather himself closer to the counter, cover his ears and squeeze his eyes tight shut.

“You’re scaring your brother with that talk,” she bit, “when I tell you enough is enough, you stop.”

Gabriel reached behind him, flexing his fingers towards his brother, whose hand he held tight, “What about when we tell you?”

Valerie stared into his face, chin tilted up and out in defiance, nostrils flared, his eyes deadly serious. Valerie backed down, slunk into a chair at the table and held her head in her hands. It pounded with the need for a drink.

“Go upstairs,” she said finally, defeated, “I’ll get dinner on.”

“We’re not hungry,” Gabriel tossed over his shoulder as he marched his brother up the stairs. Valerie shook at the table as her house quietened around her. Control slipped between her fingers, and she refused to look at her hands. Her wedding finger still ached with its loss.

She gritted her teeth against the urge, tried to tell herself she did not need it, which of course lasted all of five minutes before she was on her knees in front of the kitchen sink, clawing desperately between the plastic bags and untouched cleaning products for a bottle of Jack. She drank it right there on the floor, surrounded by thawing groceries.

***

Valerie had a string of short-term relationships her boys did not know about, men she did not feel comfortable introducing to the boys. Expending her energy on men who did not care if she had brushed her hair or not, wore on her; she snapped more at her sons, watched her bonds with them fray at the edges. A lucid moment at work (and a collection of judgmental looks from her co-workers, a different face greeting Valerie on her break every few weeks) was enough to convince her to find some stability, stop letting these careless men play with her life like cats with a ball of yarn. She had had to sober up to get a new job, cut back on her afternoon drinks. It was difficult, but she was determined to do something to save for the boys’ future, unsure when the mysterious checks would stop coming She did not want them ending up like her.

So, Valerie had traded up from her cashier position at the dollar tree for a factory job at the Coca-Cola bottling facility in Fitchburg. It paid well, and she could keep her insurance and the hours were steady; she counted it as a small victory. Both boys were taking the bus to Glendale by then, and Valerie could just make pick up time at the school; it saved her an extra hundred bucks each semester and that meant actual presents under the tree come Christmas.

She got up at five in the morning, fixed the boys their sandwiches, packed into lunchboxes with superheroes splashed across the front, and made the drive south. Rush hour gave her time to smoke and relax before her shift, windows down and the music she liked keeping her company. She was thankful Gabriel was old enough to get Castiel to school on time. Clock-in was six-thirty and she could finish her smoke in the car, leaving the windows cracked for a cross breeze and work her eight hours. There were a few women on the line that she did not exactly get along with; mostly she kept to herself.

Valerie made an honest go of it for several months until the bottle started calling to her. Gabriel was struggling in school, wanted to join the baseball team which they did not have the money for, and they were yelling at each other again. Castiel sometimes joined in, too. Took his brother’s side when he caught her pulling bottles from under the kitchen sink, tucked behind the cleaning supplies.

She caught his eye, bottle tipping toward her mouth and said, “Cas, save the for-your-own-good speech. I’m an adult, and I need a drink. I keep it all in one place now, what more do you want?”

Castiel’s mouth became a hard line, his blue eyes darkening as they narrowed, “If it’s as dangerous as bleach, why are you drinking it?”

She had nearly smacked him for it, his tone, his truth. Instead, she tipped the bottle down the kitchen sink, sent a silent apology as it splashed down the drain. “There. Are you happy?” she bit, sounding petulant to her own ears. Gabriel had smirked and Castiel only looked sad, “Yeah, mom,” and they had gone back to the living room.

After the boys had gone to sleep, Valerie moved all the bottles she had squirreled away in the cabinets, closets, bookshelves, and cupboards, into a box in the back of the closet where she still kept all of Chuck’s old things. It was easier in many ways to have them all in one place; she did not have to open the bedroom door and get on her knees on the cold kitchen floor to find them. She could have a nightcap after she sent the boys to their rooms, then a little nip before her shift. Yes, it was much easier.

***

Valerie had come to work several times in the following months a little past tipsy. She told herself not too much because she had to drive, though some days she called out when she couldn’t stop; when Gabriel was driving her crazy, when Castiel refused to come down for dinner. The ladies she worked with did not appreciate the extra hours, did not care about her situation. Most had their own problems, their own kids to get to school on time. did not have the luxury of taking a day here and there.

Her hours slipped until she couldn’t always make the mortgage and the boys had boxed mac and cheese most nights of the week. Gabriel showed up to the dinner table at times with extra food from the lunch line at school. He split everything mostly-equal, though Castiel always got the bigger portion and Valerie never said a word to them.

None of them seemed eager to speak with one another, though she did catch the boys in each other’s rooms in the middle of the night when she visited the avocado bathroom. She would tiptoe down the hall, press her ear against the door and listen as they discussed ways to get her cleaned up, sober. If she was not already too far gone, she may have opened the door and confronted them. Instead, she cried in her room with a different bottle than the one she went to sleep with.


	10. Tipping Point

Valerie, tongue fattened in her mouth from the whiskey, sat her little family down at the dining room table. She wanted to try that night, prove her sons wrong. She _was not_ losing control, she was absolutely fine, a good mother. She stirred the knock-off Kraft Dinner as it bubbled on the stove, watching Castiel quietly doing his homework. He always wrote so carefully. Gabriel’s writing was just like him, an ecstatic flurry, almost unreadable if he was excited. he had taken to middle school well, quickly making friends. Valerie was more than happy for him to take off for playdates if it got him out of her hair for an hour or more. Especially on the weekends when all she wanted to do was to curl up beneath a duvet and sleep for a year.

Gabriel arrived soon after, his friend’s parents dropping him home in their BMW. Valerie waved at them from the door, technicolor fantasies swimming behind her eyes of the lavish time Gabriel must have had. She tried a hand to his shoulder; tonight, he did not shrug it off.

“Did you have a good time,” she hedged as she ushered him inside and closed out the cold.

Gabriel did not answer beyond a nod, swinging his backpack off his shoulder. Valerie watched it slump against the wall which desperately needed a new coat of paint, folding in half on itself.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” she called absently after a sigh, reaching into her pocket for her hip flask. It had belonged to her great-great Grandfather, keep him company during the Revolution of 1917. Her mother had used it, and Valerie had almost forgotten about it, stumbled across it in the attic as she searched for Halloween decorations. It made her feel closer to Natalya. s. She took a long swig and waited for the burn to pass.

“I’m not hungry,” Gabriel replied, as he threw himself into his father’s chair, which rocked wildly, grabbing the remote and switching on the CW the sounds of which grated at Valerie’s ears.

“Hey,” she said, gentle as she could manage, “what’s the rule?”

Gabriel scoffed, “What rule? There aren’t any rules here.”

Valerie braced herself and counted to ten. It was going to be one of those nights then, “No TV during dinner.”

“You said it’s _almost_ done,” Gabriel retorted quickly.

“You don’t think maybe Cassie would like to say hi?” Valerie snapped, feeling the anger rising quickly, “You’ve barely said two words to either of us.”

Castiel’s shoulders rose to his ears. He never did like confrontation.

“Hi, Cas,” Gabriel waved absently, turning back to the TV. Valerie made a grab for the remote, her limbs feeling heavy and uncooperative. She managed it though, wrangling it from Gabriel’s loose grasp and plunging the room into darkness with a decisive click.

“Fine,” Gabriel sighed, throwing his arms heavenward as he slumped into the kitchen.

“Um, mom,” Castiel said quietly, “I think the pot’s boiling over.”

“Shit,” Valerie cursed after another swig with her back turned, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She bustled over to the stove and turned off the hob with loose hands, rescued the pan from the heat.

“You’re not supposed to use those words,” Castiel said, “they’re bad words.”

“Whatever,” Valerie murmured beneath her breath, suddenly no longer caring about dinner. She braced her hands against the kitchen counter and counted to ten once again. It was not helping quell the swirling rage inside her, as her boys sat silent like they were waiting for her to explode. Just to say they had told her so.

“Mom?” Castiel asked, as her hand hovered over her pocket. She willed herself to resist, she did not need it. What good would it do? With another unsteady breath, she transferred the over-cooked noodles to a strainer over the sink.

“I’m fine, Cassie,” she placated mildly, “it’s all good.”

She mixed in the powder, a splash of milk, her stomach turning at the smell of it. She split the bright yellow noodles between three bowls and tried not to scream when Gabriel sat back from it with his arms crossed.

“You know, at Eli’s house, they eat actual food? Like, stuff not from a box?”

Valerie stabbed at her noodles, “I’m well aware of Mrs. Styne and how perfect a household she runs. She has time for shit like that.” Castiel winced at her use of another ‘bad word’.

“So would you,” Gabriel shrugged, “if you didn’t waste all your time drinking and sleeping.”

“Gabriel,” Castiel hissed quietly as he shrank in his chair. Valerie’s cheeks were burning, her jaw clenched so tight her teeth ground together.

“You watch your tone with me,” she warned.

“Sure, mom,” Gabriel said, in a way that sounded as if he was to do no such thing, “just because you can’t admit how truly fucked you are. Like… I can’t think of a worse parent-”

“ _That’s enough_ !” Valerie yelled, slamming her fists against the table. Castiel near disappeared beneath it, “ _I warned you, Gabriel_!”

“What are you gonna do, mom?” Gabe yelled right back, “You can’t even cook mac n cheese right! You think I don’t see you with that flask? The bottles, your hands shaking, you think I don’t see that shit? You’re an _addict,_ mom, and you need to stop.”

Valerie cast a glance to Castiel, blue eyes squeezed shut against the torrent, her voiced dropped, deadly, “You’re scaring your brother.”

Gabriel shot to his feet, standing right beside Castiel with a hand on his shoulder, “No, mom, _you’re_ scaring him. You’re gonna lose us. Someone’s gonna come take us away from you, you know that right?”

“ _Stop it,_ ” Valerie cried, her hands over her ears, “Stop it, stop it.”

Her son’s burning eyes were in her face then, lips curled in disgust, “I hope they do. I hope someone comes to take us away. Every day I wish dad had stayed and you had left. I hate you.”

Valerie’s hand moved on instinct, cracked clean across his cheek. The silence after the impact was suffocating, choking all breathable air from the room. Valerie looked from her hand to the growing redness against her son’s cheek. She felt sick. Tears welled in his eyes. Castiel shrunk, face stoic, distress burning just beneath the surface. And Valerie knew at that moment, through the fog of whiskey, that she had crossed over a serious line. One she would never come back from.

“Gabie,” she whimpered as she reached out to him. Her heart shattered as he moved sharply from her reach, a protective arm slung across his younger brother’s chest.

“Thanks for dinner, _Val_ ,” he ground, hauling Castiel to his feet and dragging him upstairs. Valerie’s hands shook as she reached for the flask, draining it in a few swallows.

Valerie stumbled into the breakroom the following morning. She had passed out before ten, but she was bone-tired and hungover. She opened her locker, cringed at its creaking hinges and glanced at the photo she had pinned to the inside of the door with a little magnet from her honeymoon - a miniature red corvette. She and Chuck had rented a convertible and drove through Napa Valley, Chuck laughing in a wide-brimmed hat as Valerie, hair pinned up in a knot, raced along Highway 128.

They made a hodgepodge case from their favorites at the vineyards, took them up to the rustic red cabin they had rented in a place called Enchanted Hills. A single wooden room: floor, walls, and ceiling. There was a double cot they draped sleeping bags over, snuggled close and shared kisses. They loved it, loved each other with a fierceness that teetered on the edge of frightening. They spent their time sipping from plastic wine glasses and talking about their future. It felt like an honest-to-goodness dream. When they got back home, they started on their little family, Chuck eager to give her an apple pie life.

The second photo, held up with Coca-Cola magnet all the employees received during orientation, was a copy of all five Krushnics taken for the church directory; she remembered the cameraman had a rubber ducky that Castiel was fascinated with, his wide-eyed expression caught forever. She looked into the eyes of the woman in the photo and hardly recognized her. She had worn makeup back then, just the way her mother taught her. Chuck had a hand on his oldest son’s shoulders and Gabriel stood in front of them all, a goofy gap-toothed grin splitting his face; she could just make out his bright orange tongue, stained from a sucker she had bribed him with while they waited their turn.

Valerie jumped at the sound of her name, Josie Sands standing far too close to her elbow. Valerie pulled her coveralls from her locker, did her best to look alive, but Josie grabbed for her hand and said, “You won’t need those, Val,” and led her to her manager's office. It was not the first or even the fourth time Valerie had been called in, but it seemed that time would be her last. Her past discretions: mostly late punches, though she had been sent home once before for bloodshot eyes and dozing off near the assembly line had finally added up.

Josie lingered while Valerie was escorted from the building, her smug smile firmly in place. Valerie pulled the photos from her locker door, gathered her purse, the jacket she smoked in (even though her sons were readily disapproving of that nasty habit, too) and last week’s packed lunch and tried not to cry as she was walked to her car. Security told her she couldn’t stay in the lot, so Valerie had to drive a block to the Gas-N-Sip to break down, slam her fists into the steering wheel, smoke the rest of her cigarettes and a buy a bottle of cheap vodka she waited to drink until she got home. 

She had had many fights with her sons over the past year or so, bottles she knew for a fact were full, appeared empty in the recycling, sometimes more obviously displayed in the sink. As many as five at a time, all wasted. Whole cartons of cigarettes stolen from her purse too, ripped them up and arranged just so on top of the garbage. The empty packet stayed in her purse, so she would have to go looking.

Her boys wouldn’t be home for hours yet, which was a small mercy. She did not have to admit out loud what had become of her. She cracked the lid on the bottle before the door had even fully closed behind her, and she took a long swig, instantly feeling the relief settle in her rattled bones. She took everything upstairs with her, including the old lunch that was probably rotting within its Tupperware confines. She stripped to her underwear, climbing back between the covers of her bed, drowning the vodka in the dark warmth there.

When she opened her eyes again, the room was dark. She heard footsteps in the hall, a peculiar sound of paper somewhere by the door. She flipped her bedside lamp, flinching at the sting of the light. Her body ached all over as she stumbled towards the door, stopping dead as a piece of paper wiggled its way underneath. Once it was all the way through, the footsteps retreated. Valerie stooped to pick up the cluster of paper.

Leaflets. Her boys had collected leaflets. There was a post-it attached in Castiel’s careful handwriting.

_Promise you’ll at least think about it._

She sank heavily to the bed. She spread them out on the duvet, stared at them, willing the letters to hold still. There were a few for counselors, grief counselors as well as those specializing in addictions. A couple of support groups, even a rehabilitation center. Capitol Lakes. She scoffed at the manicured gardens, the grand building. What a farce. To pretend that it was anything other than a home to immense pain. The post-it poked its fluorescent head out at her once more, and she sighed heavily, ordering them with fingers that did not quite cooperate in a vague order of ‘willing to do’ to ‘never in a million years.’ She resolved to make some calls in the morning.

***

Gabriel had seemed hesitant at first mention of Castiel’s plan, but Castiel knew, deep down, Gabriel cared about their mother more than he let on. Ripping up her cigarettes, draining her bottles was not working, it was only making her angrier. More bottles simply replaced the ones they had poured down the sink, she never came home not smelling of smoke. So, Castiel prodded on, filled their late-night conversations with his worries, his fears, his anger, until Gabriel had no choice but to go along with this last-ditch effort to help her.

“I don’t know why you care so much,” Gabriel said to the dark wood floor, scuffing his foot across it and sulking in true Gabriel fashion, “not like she cares about us.”

Castiel turned abruptly from the rack of pamphlets lined up in the doctor’s office, his bag already full of those they had gathered from St. Andrew’s.

“She cares… she just-”

“What? More than the bottle? Are you sure?”

“Stop it,” Castiel pleaded quietly, fingers tightening against the paper in his hands.

“Cas, come on. How is she more of a mom than a loaf of bread at this point?”

Castiel did not let the threat of tears overwhelm him. He swallowed back the pain and marched out of the doors. His brother was hot on his heels, even quicker with his apologies.

“Cas, wait,” he panted, grabbing at his arm. Castiel waited, biting his lip to stave off the rising pain as Gabriel’s grip on his arm tightened.

“I’m sorry,” he garbled, “I didn’t mean…”

Castiel shrugged, “No, you’re right. She’s not… mom,” the words stung on their way out, but he forged on with sentiments he had never said aloud, not even in the dark of Gabriel’s room, “It’s just… I want her to be happy again. Why aren’t we enough?”

Gabriel drew him close with an arm about his shoulders, guided them in a slow crawl back to their home, “It’s not your fault, might be mine a little, but it’s not yours.”

Castiel turned a sympathetic look to his brother, but his eyes only hit the marble smooth surface of Gabriel’s cheek, a muscle jumping at his jaw with the clench of his teeth. Gabriel had pushed, nobody could deny that, had taken any opportunity to shove at Valerie until she had no choice but to reel back at him. But he was hurting, too. They all were.

“Gabe, you know you can talk to me,” Castiel said, sincere. “You’re always there for me, but I’m here for you, too. You don’t have to face all of this by yourself.”

Gabriel’s jaw twitched again, and his arm tightened about Castiel’s shoulders. His whole body grew tight, his eyes suddenly hard. But as quick as that tension came, it melted with a dimpled smile, “You want ice cream? I want ice cream.”

They stopped at their favorite diner; even if Castiel was not in the mood for ice cream, he knew Gabriel’s deflections a mile off, a sure sign that whatever they were talking about was territory he was not willing to tread. And that was okay, frustrating, but okay. Castiel knew his brother would come to him when he was ready. Whenever that was, he would be there for him.

The waitress behind the counter smiled at them, chalked up their ice creams on a tab that Gabriel had been keeping for at least six months now, paying it off bit by bit with the odd chore here and there. Mostly Mrs. Wilkinson, who offered the best rates in town for a carwash or help with her spring cleaning.

Three scoops of double chocolate fudge for Gabriel, one mint chocolate chip for Castiel. They took their winnings just past Woodman’s, up to the lake at the edge of the public park. Castiel did not mention Valerie again, though the weight of the pamphlets grew heavy in his bag, laid across his thighs.

The house was dark when they arrived home, and they crept around, quietly seeing to homework, or in Gabriel’s case, pretending to work in front of MTV. They were playing reruns of Jackass, which Gabriel found endlessly funny, but Castiel thought it tiresome.

Knowing that Gabriel was going to take no further part in dragging Valerie out of the pit, he laid the leaflets he had collected on the table, picking the most unlikely or aggressive from the pile and collecting them by his feet. It needed to be a gentle nudge, not a slap to the face. Having narrowed down the stash to five, he plucked a sticky note from beside the landline, scrawled a note and snuck upstairs with his peace offering, stuffing it beneath her door.

The next morning, Valerie was showered. She smelled so fresh, Castiel was startled out of his original misgivings: why she was even in the kitchen making breakfast? She drew him close to her, and he threaded his arms about her narrow hips. She hadn’t held him like that in a long time. He felt her lips at the top of his head, she sighed into his hair.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, “for the leaflets.”

He gazed up at her, more his mom than she had been in months, maybe years and said nothing.

“I’m going to ring around, see what openings those counselors have got,” she said, smiling gently. Her movements were slow, she was still hungover, but hopefully, this would be for the last time. Gabriel broke the moment wide open.

“What are you doing here?” Gabriel asked as Valerie’s arm left Castiel’s shoulders, he instantly felt colder without it.

“Gabie,” she began, sure to lay down a plate of chocolate chip pancakes in front of him first, “I lost my job yesterday-”

Gabriel cut her off with a pained groan, “Mom-”

“No, hang on, it’s a good thing,” she said with a bright smile that looked a little strained, as she continued in a gush, “I hated that place anyway, and besides, it gives me more time to focus on you two and-”

“What about _bills_ , mom?” Gabriel demanded, “How are we gonna eat?”

Valerie closed her eyes, head dropping in an apologetic slant, “I’ll work it out, baby.”

“Don’t call me that,” Gabriel murmured, snatching up his bag, “You comin’, Cas?”

Castiel looked to his mother, whose blue eyes swam as she stared back at him. He looked between her and his brother, poised in the hallway, ready to leave. No doubt he would hit the convenience store for breakfast, paid for with his scant allowance. Castiel did not want to ride the bus alone, there were kids that made fun of him in class for his shabby hand-me-down clothes and tattered books. They dared not touch him with Gabriel at his side.

Mind hesitantly made, Castiel reached up to plant a kiss on his mother’s cheek, “Sorry, mom,” he said as he gathered his books from the dinner table.

Valerie stared after him, spatula in hand. Castiel’s heart felt heavy as the front door closed behind him.

Things were good for about a month. Thecounselorr worked with Valerie through her dependencies, the underlying reasons why she turned to the comfort of the bottle time and time again. But it quickly became too painful, it was all too much, and Valerie folded easier than a house of cards. One peek at her agony, one attempt at untangling it all sent her howling back. She shied away from the broken look in Castiel’s eyes, finding her one night, slumped against the dinner table, a bottle still in hand. He helped her into bed, his rapidly growing frame still struggling under her deadweight.

That night, Castiel stopped being her baby blue. He stopped believing in her altogether.


	11. Marv

Marv Armstrong was given every opportunity to succeed in life. The son of wealthy parents, Marv had the world at his fingertips. He trailed behind him a long line of failed enterprises. Not his fault, of course. The fools he shared them with simply did not have the brains to recognize a world-radicalizing idea when it was plopped right into their laps. That’s all. His mother always told him he was a dreamer, that he did not possess the drive, the gumption to move beyond step one. He had always resented her.

His father pulled a few strings, flashed some money around, and managed to get Marv a cushy desk job. Said Marv could thank him later. He worked as Deputy Secretary at the Wisconsin Department of Transportation for eight years, his longest continued employment, until he was let go for ‘insubordination’ whatever the hell that meant. Mouth off to the Governor  _ one goddamn time _ and all the sudden, you’re a pariah in the community. Marv thought everyone at WisDOT could go fuck themselves, especially his bitch of an assistant who had recorded his fiery exchange and messaged it to his superior. She had been gunning for his job for years – always showing him up in meetings and asking questions. In Marv’s opinion, women had no business in leadership roles and should shut up unless spoken to directly.

Marv had done some freelance work in videography and, after a few lucrative weddings, decided he had put his twelve credit hours of business classes to good use. He had applied for a small business loan from the Dane County Credit Union about the time Castiel might have gotten his learner’s permit, assuming Valerie had made the necessary arrangements (she hadn’t). The banker told him he did not qualify, said he had, “Very poor credit,” which was ridiculous because he had eight lines of credit in his name. 

The banker even tried to shake his hand while Marv was tidying up his paperwork, and he scoffed, took the pen from the asshole’s desk when he made to leave the cubicle. Served him right.

Marv turned to the waiting area and caught sight of a truly magnificent woman. Tall, dark hair, piercing blue eyes and a few wrinkles that put her right in Marv’s comfort zone. He checked for a ring. None. He checked her breasts. Perky. He cleared his throat and pushed past the banker. Marv was glad he was wearing his nice blazer, a tweed number that he thought made him look like he could finish the Sunday crossword (he couldn’t, in pen).

He made his approach. Nice and easy, wait for her to look up, lock eyes, sly smile. Bingo. He took her to lunch after she made her deposit, complimented her blouse. She smelled like cigarettes and cheap wine and Marv thought he just might get lucky.

Over lunch, Valerie (hot name) talked about her sons and Marv tried to not let them ruin the mood he had been cultivating, though he did wish she had told him before he had paid. He did not like the idea of being on the hook for them down the line. He looked her over every time she glanced away, she seemed distracted, and Marv thought she might just be a little tipsy. He checked his watch: half past one. He wondered how often she drank, if it made her horny, if she would let him take her home and mess up her sheets?

Marv shifted in the booth a little and asked her, “What are you most  _ passionate _ about?” Said it in a way he hoped she would be able to read right through. Not trying to come on too strong. That’s what happened with the last one.

Valerie gave him a coy smile and he found himself shifting again, calling their server over, getting out of there.

Valerie lived in a two-story dump of a place, blue siding weathered with age and a slab porch surrounded by crumbling bricks. There was a nice wooden swing hung up on one end, but Marv couldn’t enjoy it much when the chain link gate tore a little hole in his nice blazer. He cursed under his breath and Valerie asked what was wrong. She was walking up the two low steps to the door and Marv was distracted by how good her ass looked when she moved. He brushed off her question, eager to come inside. He sniggered at his own pun.

Valerie offered him a drink and he glanced at his watch again: quarter to three. He thought it must be five o’ clock somewhere and took her up on the offer. They drank boxed wine and made out on the couch, Valerie’s nicotine-stained fingers palming him through his pants. She tasted sweet, like the cheap sangria and smoky like the Virginia Slims he had seen poking out of her purse, and Marv groaned into her mouth. Insisted on going upstairs, silently cursed his bad knee every time it popped in protest. He was not getting any younger. They spent the rest of the day in bed until her two sons came home, stomping through the house. He was extended an invitation to dinner but opted to sneak out before her kids were called downstairs.

It took two months for Valerie to figure out Marv was the best thing she had going for her. He moved in under the condition that she have wireless internet installed at the house. He had been shocked to find their only phone was an ancient landline hung up in the kitchen. Valerie boasted she had had the same phone number since she and her deadbeat ex-husband bought their shabby little house.

Marv had gotten a subprime loan from a shady online finance company and ran his videography business from the house. He liked to sit in Chuck’s old chair with his whirring laptop, Marv watched a little porn, then checked his online bookings. The chair had a loose spring that dung into his kidney, but Marv liked knowing that each day he sat there was another day  _ Chuck _ was not.

***

Sometime in August, Valerie started going off her rocker, drank more, cried more. She got needy, clingy. He had to booze her up for sex and she stopped participating, like some dead fish. Marv pushed through it, but when it became clear she was not going to pay the bills that month, Marv took the opportunity to get his hands on her bank account. Completely innocent. He had handled finances for his other girlfriends, no problem. When he logged into her account for the first time he nearly choked on his own breath.

Valerie was rich. The numbers stared back at Marv, mocked him. There were  _ tens of thousands _ in savings. Marv wondered why the fuck she was living in this shithole. He looked up from the laptop with bulging eyes and sat in Chuck’s armchair for a whole hour trying to slow down his heart rate. He was rich.

Marv could  _ feel _ his luck turning around like a physical thing. He had to be smart about this. A joint account perhaps? Unnecessary. Turned out, with a little digging, since they banked at the same branch, Marv was able to transfer funds directly to his account. Thank god for online banking. Not too much. Just enough to get him a nice new blazer to replace the one Valerie ruined with her fence. Then a little more, for a new camera rig, and that was a business expense, so he would be writing that off come April.

Marv wheezed in unabashed delight and ran them into the ground.

***

Gabriel often felt reckless, unmoored. He felt like he was on the edge of something like his next decision might be his last. It scared him. His was tired of Marv’s bullshit, blamed him for most of their problems. He was screwing up Valerie, made her mean. Gabriel had never gotten the warm and fuzzies from her, but he did not want to see her being used.

Castiel was getting angry, too. Came home sometimes with bruises from fights with kids he said couldn’t keep their mouths shut. Gabriel did not know how to help because Castiel never elaborated anymore. Just stormed off to his room, slammed the door on him. He spent his very first paycheck from the diner where they used to get ice cream on two cheap prepaid phones from the Gas-N-Sip, tucked one beneath Cas’s pillow. A peace offering. They went days without speaking sometimes, but then Castiel would open up with a little coaxing. Gabriel was patient, never pushed.

Gabriel’s phone pinged sometime around midnight. Bleary-eyed, he opened his messaging app.

_ Sorry about earlier. Bad day _

Gabriel sent Cas a dumb cat meme that took ages to download on their slow connection. That usually did the trick, but then the little dots next to Cas’s name were flashing. Stopped. Flashed again. Gabriel was fully awake now, deciding whether he should knock on Castiel’s door. The kid had come blazing through the house around eight that evening and straight up to his room. Gabriel had only caught a flash of his dark hair and a purpling bruise, his door slamming shortly thereafter. Gabriel turned over on his side, wished he had x-ray vision to see through to Cassie’s room next door. He paused; then again maybe not. He shuddered and tapped another message, watched the little dots disappear for a moment

_ You wanna talk about it? _

He heard Castiel shuffle in his room and sat up ready for the soft knock that followed shortly after. Defeat colored Castiel’s features as he slumped onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling as he lay back.

“Do you ever feel…” he murmured, waving his hands in the vague direction of his chest, his face scrunching with ineptitude. Gabe prodded at him with a toe, enough to earn himself a hearty swat. Castiel ran his hands down his face, spoke into the cave of his palms, “Do you ever feel so angry you could just burst?”

Gabriel scoffed because, yeah, welcome to his life. Castiel’s hands moved to his dark hair, pulling fistfuls away from his scalp. Watching it made Gabriel wince.

“How do you  _ deal _ with it?” Castiel whined, “I’m seconds away from exploding. All the time.”

Gabriel leaned forward to poke a Castiel’s blackening eye, “That how you got this?” he asked over Castiel’s indignant hiss. Cradling his aching eye, Castiel nodded.

“I’m exploding,” he said quietly, “I can’t stop it.”

“You tried counting down from ten?” Gabriel said, basking in the smile tugging at his brother’s lips. He leaned over to his bedside drawer, produced a shoddy little notebook, pressing it into his brother’s hands.

“Try journaling,” he suggested with a shrug. Castiel cocked a brow, huffed a broken laugh.

“Yeah, okay,” he mocked, “let me go write poetry in my  _ feelings book _ .”

Gabriel pouted, “I don’t  _ have _ to help you, you know.”

Despite his skepticism, Castiel kept a hold of the notebook. They lay in parallel lines, not saying much, letting the quiet of the moment calm their racing hearts. When Castiel spoke again, Gabriel almost missed it.

“What do you think mom sees in Marv?”

Gabe swallowed a gag at the very name. This question he had no trouble answering, “Not a damn clue.”

Castiel turned his head with a puzzled frown, “Why is he even here then?”

Valerie as they knew her was rapidly fading, morphing into something entirely unrecognizable. A husk. She’d been bad before, sure, but never like this. Like Marv had reached on in there and scooped out her soul. Shoved her in a locked box, threw away the key. Gabriel had never hated anyone so ferociously.

“To destroy her,” he said quietly.

Gabriel had to wake Castiel up in the morning, dragged him out of bed, impressed by the colorful names Castiel came up with for him. Gabriel barely got him out the door in time for the bus, his own day planned around more important things than senior year. He was rounding the corner to get himself ready when he caught sight of Marv posted up at the kitchen table. His back was to Gabriel and he was tapping away on his outdated laptop, hunting, and pecking. Gabriel rolled his eyes, what a fucking moron. Except. Gabriel caught sight of the computer screen, took a few silent steps into the kitchen to see better.

“Whatcha doin’,” Gabriel asked at full-volume, immensely thrilled when Marv turned on a sharp gasp, eyes bulging out of his skull. Gabriel had an over-under with himself on how long it would take for those buggy eyes to pop right out of Marv’s fucking face some day. He gave it another year.

Marv slammed the lid to the laptop, but it was too late.

“Val give you our login or somethin’ cause I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to see our bank stuff.” Marv gaped like a bloated fish, and Gabriel sneered at him, suddenly bold, “ _ Answer me _ , dick face. What are you doing?”

Marv seemed to finally get himself together, “Where’s your brother?”

“The fuck do you care,” Gabriel answered, so glad they were the only two in the house. He did not realize how long he had been waiting for this. A true showdown. He  _ hated _ this man but never found a reason to bring it up, content to let Marv dig his own grave, but this? This was perfect. A prime opportunity to finally call out this lily-livered piece of shit. Evidence to bring to Valerie, get Marv out their lives once and for all.

Marv stood from the table, the chair scraping along the chipped linoleum floors, “You watch your tone with me, boy.”

Gabriel made a grab for the laptop, barely biting back a growl as Marv’s hand snapped around his wrist. His foul coffee-stale breath made Gabriel’s eyes water as Marv drew close, “I don’t know what you think you saw-”

Gabriel snatched his hand away, “I  _ know _ what I saw. You’re a fucking leech, a good-for-nothing sack of shit and I’m gonna make sure mom knows just how pathetic you-”

Marv’s fist shoved a stopper on his thoughts, did not quite send him reeling, but certainly took him by surprise. Gabriel scoffed, covering his smarting cheekbone.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he said, gearing up for his retaliation, which Marv caught in both hands. Gabriel sneered.

“Go ahead, son, but it’s my word against yours. I wonder who mommy dearest is gonna believe, me? Or her least favorite son.”

Gabriel grit his teeth against the ache in his heart and cheek, delivering a swift kick to Marv’s shin, reveling in his pained cry. He released Gabriel’s arms in favor of cradling his leg. Gabriel stumbled back, furious and hurt.

“Go fuck yourself, Marv,” he spat, “you don’t deserve her.” He turned back to the hall, grabbed his jacket from the peg, and slammed the door shut behind him. Let his legs take him where he always felt safe.

Marv flinched as the door slammed behind Gabriel. He braced himself over the kitchen table, hands bracketing the laptop, his ticket out of the hell hole. He heaved a breath and then laughed, giddy at the prospect that he had finally gotten a rise out Valerie’s least favorite. He felt powerful when he looked down at his knuckles, red and suddenly throbbing. Each heartbeat he felt there a reminder of his strength. He had never hit anyone in his life, more likely to tattle than retaliate. It felt good to defend himself.

His laughter subsided, and Marv was left with a nagging feeling that Valerie would not like him laying hands on her boys, but she had told him once, whisper-quiet in the moonlight, that Gabriel reminded her of Chuck. His carefree attitude, boisterous nature, he even looked the part. Marv decided then, that he was doing her a favor: the more he drove Gabriel away, the less she had to deal with him.

Marv nodded, settled back into his chair, groaning at the sharp sting of his shin; he took a drink of his cheap coffee and opened the laptop. Back to business.

***

Gabriel walked through the cemetery gates, up the narrow driveway, and through the grass to Michael’s grave. The sky was clear, for the most part, and dappled sunlight moved to guide him, though he knew the way.

“Hey, Mikey. You got a second to talk?”

Valerie had never taken them to visit when they were younger. Gabriel had had to ask the funeral director where the marker was the first time he came on his own. He had gotten turned around a half dozen times before he caught sight of the little cherub perched on his brother’s headstone. He had read the inscription over and over, dumbfounded by how close together the dates were. He had been without Michael now, longer than he had him. It tugged at his heart. He tugged back; sheer habit.

Gabriel caught sight of a little bird in the branches, gave it a wave, then felt sort of dumb for doing it. The bird did not seem to mind and it was the only one that didn’t make him nervous. He sat in the grass where Michael lay resting.

“I’m doing the best I can for Cas, you know? But it’s hard, he’s so quiet,” Gabriel ran his hand down his face, wincing at the bruise over his eye.

“What, this,” he asked the headstone, prodding the bruise to remind himself of the pain, “it’s nothing, bro. Don’t worry.” He clammed up then, scared that someone might hear him, see him. He glanced around himself, raised up on his knees to peer down the grassy hill to the funeral home. Deserted.

Gabriel rocked down, butt in the grass and stared up at the cherub, “It’s Marv, ok? Thinks I’m a little shit, and  _ I am _ . But it don’t mean he’s gotta hit me, right? Like I deserve that shit,” he trailed off eyes downcast again, then mumbled, “better me than Cassie though.”

The bird chirruped from the branches of the tree nearby, its song a lamenting sorrow. At least, that’s how Gabriel heard it in his grief, his anger.

“I mean who the  _ fuck _ does he think he is, anyway,” he was shouting, his paranoia all but forgotten. It felt good, cathartic. The bird trilled sharply in response.

Gabriel heaved a sigh that moved his whole body. He should really be in school, but people would talk. His teachers would assume he had gotten into another fight. He laughed bitterly at the ground, tore up some of the grass there, stained his fingers green.

“Eli keeps asking me to move into their garage… _ carriage house _ , whatever, but I  _ won’t _ leave Cassie. I can’t let that whiny douchebag get to him. He’s so good, Mikey. Kid’s going places and Marv can’t ruin that. I won’t let him.” He leaned back, rested on the headstone behind him. “I’ll be eighteen in a few months, I mean, you know that, but…I’m thinking about taking the old bean away from here. I don’t have the details yet, but I could get another serving job, maybe find dad? I dunno, it’s just a thought.” The wind whipped through the trees, rusted the leaves and Gabriel tugged his thin jacket around him a little tighter.

“I guess Eli’s going to talk to his dad about getting me an internship at this big pharma company where he works. Sounds like I might be slinging coffee again, the fancy stuff though. Could be a good gig. Feels like charity though, all of it. I mean, the Stynes are great, but I kinda wanna make it for myself, you know? It’s dumb.” The bird gave a seemingly angry little twitter and Gabriel huffed another sigh.

“You’ve got my back though, right? Cause I can’t do this without you, bro.”

Gabriel sat in the grass for another hour, letting the summer wind cool him off, bring him back from that razor’s edge. The bird kept him company.


	12. Alfie

Cas always came home from Alfie’s with a dopey smile and a full stomach; something Valerie’s own gut gurgled with jealousy over. Her son had not looked like that around her in a long time. His smile would fall as soon as his eyes settled on Marv. She knew her boys did not like him, but there was something about him; his love of books and cardigans perhaps, that drew her to him. That, and he had a firm grasp on finances, and offered without her asking, to manage the household for her. With one less stressor on her shoulders, Valerie slept easier, especially with another body in her bed.

She had gotten a phone call from Alfie’s mom that afternoon, however, asking in a voice that sounded more than a little shaken for Castiel to be picked up. Val took the drive carefully, counting her lucky stars that the roads were fairly clear, especially in the more affluent parts of town. Castiel was silent the whole drive home; nothing too unusual, and he dropped his rucksack unceremoniously in the hallway, heading upstairs without so much as a greeting to Marv.

“Our evening was wonderful, Castiel, thanks for asking,” Marv grumbled after him, eyes glued to the TV. Valerie winced as she shut the front door carefully behind her; Marv had a way of pushing buttons, riling up her sons until the safety of her home felt… unstable. Brittle, teetering on a knife’s edge. Had she not imbibed the better part of a bottle of Jack, she might have asked Castiel if he wanted anything. She knew better, anyhow, knew that Alfie’s mother made the best casseroles in town; the woman made a habit of dropping them off randomly throughout the year, in Perspex dishes with handwritten notes, sickening messages like: “From one neighbor to another, with love,” or “We’re here for you, always.” It made Valerie’s lip curl.

She liked Alfie though, he was a good kid. Castiel had known him forever, as part of the church. But, Castiel knew better than to invite his friend over; Valerie couldn’t stand it, the shame of her house, and she was pretty sure Marv wouldn’t be able to either. There was something very feminine about the boy; those long eyelashes, that quiet demeanor. Marv would struggle to keep his mouth shut.

When Gabriel came home, he made a point of dashing past the open door to the lounge, the blaring television the only clue he needed to determine that Marv was slumped in his dad’s chair. He slipped straight up the stairs, knocking on Cas’s door.

Cas’s room was so small, it was hard to fit them both in at the same time, but for his brother, it was a safe space, a place to keep people out. Gabe’s room was good for that, too of course, but Cas never had appreciated Gabe’s collection of topless women on the walls. Gabriel crossed over to sit near his brother's bed.

“How was Alfie’s?” Gabriel asked, sliding down to the floor to face Castiel, who buried his phone quickly beneath his pillow with an obvious blush burning at his cheeks. “Good?” Gabriel deduced, dragging out the word with waggling eyebrows. Castiel’s face was sullen and he answered with nothing but a shrug. Gabriel quickly pushed himself up from the floor, settling beside his brother and throwing an arm about his shoulders, “What’s going on?”

The phone rang downstairs and Castiel’s shoulders tensed. Gabriel cocked an ear, heard his mom answer before turning back to his brother, Castiel’s hands twisting about in his lap.

“Cas?”

There was shouting downstairs, crescendoing to the exact point that rose Gabriel’s hackles in unconscious response. Heavy footsteps landed on the stairs. Castiel began to shake.

“I kissed him,” he said quietly, “Alfie, I kissed him.”

The door burst open, Marv standing in the doorway, his breath heaving his shoulders up around his ears.

“You apologize to your mother,” he seethed, pointing a sausage-like finger in Castiel’s face. Gabriel did not need to tell his body to cover his younger brother, it moved of its own accord, instinctual. He moved up from the bed, blocking Cas as Marv’s eyes bugged out of his head like a hideous toad, and Gabriel’s lip curled.

“What the fuck’s he got to apologize for?” Gabriel ground out, pushing Castiel back down as he made to stand, “Cas, don’t give this ass-hat what he wants.”

“What is it I want?” Marv sneered, “Is it too much to ask that he apologize to his mother? Who, by the way, is weeping downstairs thanks to him! She’s _humiliated._ ”

“ _He hasn’t done anything_!” Gabriel roared, squaring up to the squat little man in one stride, “ _If she’s crying, it’s because she’s gotta sleep next to your ugly mug every night_.”

Gabriel, thinking back, should’ve seen Marv’s next move coming, honestly. The way his face reddened, the twist of his mouth, the low growl in his throat. The hit took him by surprise, like the first time in the kitchen, sent him stumbling backward, cradling his throbbing jaw with both hands. As he reeled to hit back, Castiel stood between them. Gabriel could hear Valerie’s footsteps on the stairs.

“Get out of here, Marv,” Cas warned quietly. The laugh that burbled between Marv’s lips was enough to turn Gabriel’s stomach.

“What the fuck are you going to do to me,” Marv smirked, stepping right up to Castiel, his voice nothing more than a whisper, “Huh? You filthy little faggot?”

Valerie arrived just in time to watch her youngest son deliver a clumsy punch to Marv’s face. She was a mess of tears, her skin red and blotchy, as she kneeled over Marv’s toppled body, staring daggers at her sons.

“ _Cassie_ , what have you done,” Valerie asked, hysterical, a pleading note in her voice. “Marv, honey are you ok?”

Gabriel stared at her in disbelief. “Mom,” he choked, “why the fuck are you defending him? You heard what he just said to Cas, right?”

She said nothing, tried to help Marv to his feet, but he shoved her off him as he stumbled away.

“Fucking pathetic,” Gabriel muttered, rubbing at his jaw where his skin smarted, “you call yourself our mother.” He said it like a curse, scooped up a bag from beneath Castiel’s bed, hurriedly filling it with his clothes. Castiel stood stock still, utterly shocked, cradling his reddening knuckles to his heaving chest. Gabriel tugged his brother from the spot where he had rooted himself. Valerie did not move from the doorway.

“Move,” Gabriel ground out as Valerie’s eyes filled with tears.

“Where are you going?” Her arms extended, a pleading touch aborted half way.

“Fucking anywhere else,” Gabriel bit, careful not to touch her as he dragged his brother down the hall, slamming his own bedroom door shut behind them both. Castiel froze against the door, staring a hole into the floor. Gabriel grabbed fistfuls of his own clothes, stuffing them unceremoniously into the bag, his charger, his wallet.

“Where are we going?” Castiel parroted quietly from the door.

Gabriel zipped up the bag jerkily, swallowing back the burning in his throat and wiping furiously at his leaking eyes.

“To the Stynes’.”

They made a quick exit, Gabriel stomping down the stairs, pulling his phone from his pocket to dial Roscoe to get them. Castiel, in a sudden fit of blinding rage, slammed the front door closed behind him hard enough to rattle the ancient windows in their frames. His breath steamed from his pursed lips, and at that moment, Gabe was almost frightened of him.

“ _Goddamnit, Val,_ ” Marv roared over the sound of the slamming door. She flinched away from him. She had never heard him yell before, usually, he just spat at her or said nasty things that hurt her feelings, but _this_ . This she did not understand. She was already overwhelmed from the call, confused by Castiel’s behavior. Her little boy, a _deviant_?

She was thankful Marv was there to take charge of the situation, still reeling from it all. But _this_? This yelling, it took her offline. She stumbled back through the doorway and Marv was waiting for her, lurched toward her. “ _I can take care of it, you stupid fucking bitch. Do you like making me look weak in front of them? Huh?”_

He had backed her down the hall toward their bedroom, _his_ , pointing his finger at her chest, stabbing it into her sternum. She was crying again, couldn’t keep herself from it. She wished she had turned the other way, followed the boys out of the house, fled the insanity, this nightmare turned reality.

She pleaded with him, babbled over his rage, placating words she hoped would help. She felt around the hallway, stumbled hard into the bathroom door, the handle digging into her side, the rage in his eyes scared her. She fumbled the handle, finally opened the door and slammed it shut in his face. There was a brief moment of stunned silence on both sides of the door, and she heard him gather his breath and slam his whole weight into the barrier.

The door shook beneath her palms and she stumbled back, sat heavily on the toilet. He was pounding on the door, screaming himself hoarse, “ _Come out you fucking bitch. I will not cow down to you or your fucking sons. I’m sick of it, Val.”_ She reached a shaky hand to the cabinet beneath the sink, swallowing the tears that wracked her, slipped from the avocado toilet down to the rug, crawled over until she could reach back behind her makeup, the cleaning supplies, tattered towels from her wedding registry, to the bottle she kept there.

She drank herself to sleep to the sound of Marv screaming himself dry, then bashing through the house. The alcohol numbed her pleasantly and she gave no thought to what he might be destroying downstairs. A problem for another day. She hoped the boys were safe. Gabriel might be onto something, fucking anywhere was better than this. She passed out before Marv wore himself down welcomed the darkness with open arms.

Valerie awoke, curled on her side on the fuzzy white bath mat, to the smell of her own vomit clinging to her. She was stiff and achy, every muscle screaming in agony as she lifted herself from the floor, took stock of her surroundings. This surely was not the first time she had woken up on the bathroom floor, but it was the worst she could remember in some time. She was disgusting, dared not look in the mirror at herself, and was scared to run the shower in case Marv was still in the house. She had no idea what to do, utterly helpless. She listened carefully for anything that would give away a presence in the house, half hoped the boys had come back sometime in the night, but as the seconds ticked by into minutes, she was sure she was alone.

She scrubbed her mess from the rug and tiles, and ran a scalding shower for herself, wrapped her tender pink skin in one of the towels from the cabinet and inched her way out of the bathroom. A beat or two, standing in that hallway, Valerie heard nothing but her shuddering breath. She had never been so frightened, never in her life. She crept towards her bedroom, peeking around the door, just in case Marv was asleep or lying in wait for her. The room was dark, the curtains still open, bathing the room in bright moonlight. The thought of getting into that bed, of smelling Marv on the sheets filled her with nausea, so she settled for grabbing fistfuls of clothes from her drawers and scampering back to the safety of the bathroom, where she changed behind the locked door. Everything felt sinister, monsters lurking in the shadows.

Emboldened, just a little, from the soft clothing around her body, Valerie slipped out of the door, did not even pause for a moment, before heading for Michael’s bedroom, across the way. She eased open the door, the sight of the room stealing her breath like it always did.

Untouched. Thick layers of dust covered everything; the duvet, the pillow, the handles, the little desk, clung like dew on the carpet. She opened the closet, all of her baby’s clothes still hung up neatly. She had never had to teach him to do that. He always seemed to know.

She buried her fists into a crisp white shirt; Chuck had bought it for him for a friend’s wedding. Michael stole the show, with his dark, combed-back hair, bright blue eyes, his crisp suit with smart suspenders. Shoes shined so proudly, Michael did not want to play outside on the lawn with the other children in case he scuffed them. Valerie had brought an extra pair of shoes for him, stuffed into Gabriel’s diaper bag. Michael kissed his brother’s restful forehead before he left pulling on his sneakers and running out the double doors.

Her breath shuddered in and out, her hands shook, her stomach roiled. She smoothed the shirt carefully, undoing the creases her fists had left. She brushed off the dust from the bed, fresh tears springing to her eyes without any warning. She sat heavily on the mattress that squeaked beneath her delicate weight, not used to the disturbance, as her body cleansed itself. It must have been close to an hour she sat there, silent as the grave, tears rolling ceaselessly down her cheeks.

This was not the sort of thing she thought would ever happen to her. This was not the sort of thing that happened outside of telenovelas and melodramas. It was never supposed to be this way. Chuck was supposed to be her happily ever after, Michael was supposed to be anything he wanted to be. She was supposed to repair her relationship with Gabriel, fawn over Castiel as her baby. She was supposed to want to live. To love her life. To be grateful every single day, work in a little cafe, plan her sons’ weddings.

As the tears finally petered out, her body slumped in on itself; tired to the bone and aching from the tension and the unforgiving bathroom floor, Valerie lay her head on her eldest son’s pillow. The dust tickled at her nose, wound its way into her hair, stuck to the tracks of her tears, all the way down her chest. She heaved a quiet sigh, her eyes fell closed, and Valerie fell into a deep sleep.

***

Marv had barely noticed the little brats were gone, wouldn’t have noticed at all if it were not for Valerie’s sniveling for a week straight. He should have hit her for being so irritating. She did not smile, did not laugh at his jokes, did not even deign to touch him. On and on she droned; Gabriel was right to stand up for Castiel, her little boy, who could do no wrong. That she should have done the same. Pretending like she had no feelings of disgust over his… disturbing lifestyle. As long as Marv controlled that house, he had no intentions of letting that filth fester between the walls. He kept her appetites well-fed, though the liquor cabinet was looking a little worse for wear, tried his best to keep her pliant.

Gabriel, meanwhile, safe and comfortable amongst houses four times the size of his own, stewed on a plan a long time in the making. He was nearly eighteen after all; as soon as his birthday came, he would be out of there. he would take Castiel with him and… go where? He had barely anything saved from his job before he lost it, where would he take them? He couldn’t afford a place of his own, no way. Cornered, Gabriel raged against the cage. Mrs. Styne, of course, had said he could stay with them as long as he needed but he wouldn’t leave his brother alone with that monster.

Castiel was just as uncomfortable; neither of them particularly relaxed guests, even set up as they were in the _carriage_ house with a certain amount of independence, own bathroom and all. Gabe could not shake off the feeling of being an utter burden on the household. So, as the bruise along his jaw turned green, Gabriel packed their bags, took his brother and made for home.

And from that moment on, Gabriel kept count of the days, counted down until he was legally free to get out of there. He would figure out the rest as he went.


	13. Zing, Zing, Zing

“Chuck, you’re coming with me,” Sera said right as she opened the door. Chuck had been holed up in the dining room for the past three days with his laptop, writing his latest  _ Supernatural _ book, and he had been on a bit of a roll. He only ate when Sera put a plate directly on his keyboard and she had been dropping hints that she would like her, “table back by Christmas Eve, please and  _ thank you, Charles! _ ” She had gotten used to him commandeering different parts of the house when an idea struck, and he was never without something to write with. It reminded her of college, back when they shared a creative writing course.

She had taken it upon herself to suss him out on campus, a never-ending game of hide and seek. He would often miss a week’s worth of classes at a time, squirreled away in his dorm, the library, the local dive bar. He looked like a crazy person, hunched over notebooks filled with scratchy writing, doodles, notes hand-written and typed. She would order a beer and wait for him to fizzle out sometime before last call, eyes drooping, and escort him home (he had fallen asleep on the campus bus once, and the driver called her at midnight to come and get him from the depot. Never again).

When he was not sucked into a story, Chuck was remarkably good company, a little shifty, but bright and forthcoming with affection. They had even dated the same girl once, at separate times, and bonded over her horrendous singing voice. Chuck loved to sing and was in a few bands back in the day. He had a soft spot for musicals, too and when Sera’s sister invited her to her niece’s high school rendition of  _ Meet Me in St. Louis _ , Sera knew the only way she would make it through was with her best friend.

Chuck managed to glace up from his screen, “What is it?”

“I need you to save me from falling asleep during Morgan’s school play. Sandy roped me in and I can’t get out. Auntly duties or some shit,” Sera dropped her shoes onto the rack by the door and unbuttoned her blazer, slinging it toward the couch nearby. It landed on the rug. “You like show tunes, I need to show support for my loved ones. Whaddya say?”

“I should really finish this chapter.”

“Well, fine. The show’s Saturday at six. Does that give you enough time?” She pulled leftovers from the fridge, lifted the lid, smell-checked and popped the microwave open; the beeps as she entered the time competed with her words, “I don’t want to impede your process, but I’d love you to move back to your office.”

Chuck was silent, but for the tapping of his keystrokes. Sera sighed heavily for her own benefit. Her fault for not maintaining direct eye-contact.

Sera was careful to pick her battles with Chuck on Saturday. She fixed him toast that he did not eat and orange juice that he finished and asked him around four o’clock when he went to the bathroom, to please take a shower while holding the door handle so he could not get out of the room. When she heard the shower run and the curtain pull open and shut, she let go of the handle and grabbed clean clothes from Chuck’s room, opening the door with eyes squeezed shut to set the outfit on the toilet seat. When he came out, smelling better than he had in two weeks, she handed him a notebook and his favorite pen and told him he had to, “be portable today. The play, remember?” Chuck smiled warmly, but she could see the moment an idea took him over and he was already close to filling a page before he’d even brushed his teeth.

He wrote during the car ride to Morgan’s school and did not look up when the student usher offered him a playbill. Sera took one for them both with an apologetic smile and a sincere thank you. They sat near the front, on the far-left edge, so that Chuck could use the floor lights to scribble away in his notebook. The sound of the pen scratching across the page soothed her and she made polite conversation with the woman sitting next to her whose daughter was playing Agnes Smith. The stage lights came up and Chuck straightened in his seat, but only because he had the light he needed.

Act One began and Sera read over Chuck’s shoulder when the action dragged and tried not to wince whenever Agnes did not quite hit the right notes. They were almost to intermission, Sera had been dutifully moving her finger down the playbill after each song, she had read and re-read and read again all the student actors’ biographies, the local advertisements, and the upcoming shows, Chuck scratching along at her elbow. They had one more song to go and then she was going to get popcorn from the concession stand and a stale Coca-Cola. She even recognized the title for this one.

Chuck’s head snapped up, blue eyes wide as the opening bars of  _ The Trolley Song _ played, slightly off-key, by the student orchestra and band that had been wedged into the gap between the stage and the front row of seats. Chuck turned to Sera and made a grab for the playbill on her lap, which she gave over to him with a shocked expression. He glanced at it, then stood up from his seat and Agnes’s mother gave him a look. Sera grabbed her purse from under her own seat and lay an apologetic hand on the woman’s arm, crouching as she shimmied out of her row so the folks behind her could still see. Chuck was already at the auditorium doors in the back of the room, each family he passed, sparing him an aggravated glance. Sera walked on her toes to avoid her short heels clacking against the concrete aisle, though she had a fleeting thought that the sound might add some much-needed rhythm for the ensemble.

In the lobby, Chuck looked to only just be registering where he was, although Sera had been checking in with him all week, reminding him of the show, hoping something got through to him. She should be so lucky. Instead, she helped the auditorium door to shut gently behind her and walked full-footed to where Chuck was standing. Her stomach growled a little at the smell of fresh popcorn.

“Chuck, what’s happening? Are you with me?” 

She stood with Chuck in the middle of a high school auditorium in Naperville, a hand on each of his shoulders and guided him through a deep breathing exercise Sonny had coached her on until Chuck’s eyes met hers and then filled with tears.

Sonny had helped tremendously when Chuck moved in with her after his first best seller. She had the means and the room to put him up and he just never left. He woke up sometimes with nightmares. He had told her only vaguely that he left Valerie after a death in the family and Sera respected his grieving process. When it got bad, he called Sonny, and they would talk late into the night. Sera had Sonny over for dinner on several occasions and took him aside to ask how she might help Chuck when he slumped into depressive moods. She had learned the difference over the years between focused writing and withdrawal writing. It was part of the reason she let him take over their shared living spaces. When Chuck was depressed, he locked the door, literally shut her out. She had removed the lock on the study at Sonny’s suggestion. When he was focused, Chuck wrote anywhere, read aloud his work and asked for her thoughts, wore a pleased, open smile no matter what she told him.

“Can we go home, please? I’m sorry. It’s only the first act, but I can’t be here,” Chuck said, shifting nervously, “I can wait in the car for you, I know you’re here for Morgan. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Chuck. Let’s go home,” Sera said, pulling the keys from her small purse and taking a last deep smell of popcorn.

Sera was shocked after the silent car ride back to their apartment, that Chuck made a break for the couch, shedding his winter layers. It was where they had their deep talks about how Chuck still supported Valerie, and how uncomfortable he was with the idea of a book tour, even with the  _ Supernatural  _ series growing in popularity. Sera shucked her shoes and scarf, took out her earrings and placed them on the kitchen counter. She poured them two glasses of water from the filtered pitcher in the refrigerator and set the kettle on for good measure.

Sera sat on the opposite side of the couch and brought her feet up, chin resting on her knees and extended the second glass of water to Chuck. He had already pulled the blanket from the back of the couch, draped it over his own folded legs and reached to take the glass.

It took several hours and several pots of tea, but Chuck told Sera everything, wove his tale of woe for her, both sobbing openly. Sera had only ever lost her grandparents, and while she felt that ache deep within her, she understood that her pain, was different from Chuck’s. She understood now how Chuck had fallen so far, why he was so haunted.

The first rays of morning sunlight peeked over the tops of the Naperville skyline when Sera remembered what had brought them there in the first place. She nudged her mug farther away on the coffee table so that she could stretch her legs. Her knees and ankles popped. She flexed her toes. Chuck had settled back into the couch sometime around three and was gazing, a bit wistful over the back of the couch, out the window that overlooked the city. He seemed lighter now. The weight of a terrible past shared between them.

“So, what’s Judy Garland got to do with anything?”

A sad smile played on his lips and he sipped the dregs from his mug, blinked and turned to her, “Do you remember back when I first met Valerie? You were just getting Flying Wiccan off the ground and I was looking for a smallish town to write about?”

“Yeah, you wanted to rewrite  _ Peyton Place _ , Grace Metalious was your one true muse,” she said, smirking.

“Sure. Let’s go with that. I settled on Madison because it was close to home, but still had that charm, you know? I tried so hard to write that book…” he trailed off, remembering all the wasted hours spent trying to make a 1950’s soap opera into something palatable for the modern reader. Chuck scoffed at his own foolish ambition. He was much happier writing about monsters. They felt closer to his heart after Michael.

“But then you met Val, and suddenly writing wasn’t the most important thing?” Sera prompted, tucking the blanket between her thigh and the couch cushion. Chuck had that wistful expression again.

“She was so  _ vibrant _ . Passionate…”

“Young, you mean?”

“Five years doesn’t make me terrible person,” Chuck said, plowing on before Sera could make another friendly jab at their age difference. “She knew what she wanted, that apple pie life, you know? House, kids, a husband to woo her.”

“You had very different definitions of ‘wooing’ if I remember correctly.”

“She thought I was  _ excellent  _ at serenading her, thank you.”

***

It had come blasting through the speakers at the crappy little diner where they had had their first date and subsequently built a tradition around, every special occasion celebrated there. The food was served on checkered plates to match the black and white tile flooring. Done up in red and white, the seating was all chrome. The booths which lined the windows where Chuck and Valerie sat, were cushioned in white. Wedged between the bar top and the pie cooler sat a pristine jukebox whose song had just switched over. Chuck had sat up arrow-straight while Valerie’s beautiful blue eyes (he had always found her exotic; dark hair and blue eyes was such a rare and striking combination like he had pinned a near-extinct butterfly) narrowed with confusion.

“Come on, don’t tell me you don’t know this,” he teased, feet already tapping beneath the table.

“I don’t know this,” Valerie laughed, twisting a napkin around her fingers. Chuck let the beat move to his shoulders, and Valerie’s cheeks reddened. As Chuck began to sing aloud, Valerie buried her head in her hands with an amused groan. He stood, his deft feet tapping against the cracked, stained floor with dexterity he never took lessons for. He had watched enough Broadway to get the gist, and if Valerie’s laughter was anything to go by, he was doing an okay job.

“Clang, clang, clang went the trolley,” he sang, his hands flying out to his sides as he moved to the classic box step he had practiced in front of his mirror throughout his teens, “ding, ding, ding went the bell,” he was starting to gain the attention of other diners who turned and scowled at the interruption to their lunch. Chuck did not care. He locked his eyes with Valerie’s as she glanced up, all bright smile and infectious laughter, “Zing, zing, zing went my heartstrings, from the moment I saw  _ her  _ I fell.”

Valerie snorted (even that was attractive when she did it) at his bending of the lyrics as he made to stand atop their table.

“SIR!” came a roar from behind the counter, “Do  _ not _ stand on the tables! If you continue this disturbance, I’ll have to ask you to leave!” Valerie was never one to be told what to do and made unrelenting eye contact with the disagreeable old woman behind the counter as she slammed a twenty on their table, grabbed Chuck by the hand and dragged him out.

They were still laughing as Chuck pulled up to Valerie’s apartment.

“You’re such a goof,” Valerie said, winding her fingers between his as the engine clicked to a stop.

“ _ You’re _ incredible,” Chuck retorted, pulling her in by their hands for a long kiss, “I love you,” he breathed against her lips.

He felt Valerie freeze beneath him and mentally kicked himself. He had gone and said it, the one bomb he told himself he was not going to drop first. Who was he kidding? He pulled away slowly, eked his eyes open. Valerie was stock still where she sat, shoulders bunched around her ears, but her expression was not what he had expected. A slow smile spread across her face and she kissed him again.

“You do?” she asked, breathless, “You really do?”

“Of course, I do, are you kidding me?” Chuck laughed, holding her face between his hands, “I love you.”

“I love  _ you,” _ she said, eyes brimming with tears.


	14. Good Tidings

In the days leading up the Christmas, Chuck found himself suspended in hiatus, having finished his latest book and waiting for the next idea to come. Sera told him to take a proper vacation, but his brain had a way of supplying him with plot points whether he wanted it to or not.

Sera’s family was huge on the holidays, they liked to pick a theme and then subjected themselves to games of dress up and White Elephant. The whole block got together, the neighborhood kids had epic snowball battles that the parents often joined in on and there was always enough food leftover to distribute to the homeless shelter downtown. The theme that year was _The Polar Express_ and Sera and Chuck were meant to be elves. Her uncle was slated to be Santa, having inherited the mantle from his father. Sera found the whole idea exhausting, but Chuck had always loved Christmas with his boys; he had only had two years with them all, but they were the best Christmases he could ever remember. Certainly, better than those he spent in the park.

Chuck was up before dawn, jotting down ideas in his travel notebook and had decided to make a cup of hot chocolate. He was stirring the hot milk into a banned books mug when he felt a tug at his heart, sharp at first, then settling into a dull ache. The mini marshmallows had all melted by the time Sera joined him in the kitchen, pulling a clean mug from the dishwasher and setting it near the kettle. She was a little bleary-eyed, but Chuck’s posture did not go unnoticed. She waved a hand in front of his face, and he slowly seemed to come back online.

“Hey, you alright, bud?”

“I’d like to go to Madison for Christmas this year. See the boys and Val.”

Sera blinked owlishly at him for a moment, completely taken off guard. They hadn’t talked about Chuck’s family since the night of the play and Sera had given Chuck his space, gave up on coaxing him out of the dining room, happy to see him continue working. He had been lighter the last couple of weeks and she was grateful to have everything out in the open between them. It helped her navigate his moods, put them on equal footing.

“Ok, what’s your plan?”

“I want to go to them, my boys. Spend Christmas with them.”

“Uh huh,” Sera prompted with a raised brow, “but have you thought about it any more than that?”

He looked up at her question and she felt like a jerk for asking but, “Have you been in contact with them since you started sending the checks? Maybe you should call first?”

“I know,” Chuck’s face crumpled in remorse, “I know, but… I _need_ this. I think it’s time, you understand, right?” Sera was not sure she would ever understand, but she nodded all the same.

“Think about calling first, ok? I’ll back you, either way, you know that. Just wished I had a little more time to prepare to be the only elf.”

Chuck grinned sheepishly at her, hand curling at his chest, “Thanks.”

***

Chuck threw his bags into the truck with little ceremony; the quaking in his hands saw to that. He hadn’t seen his sons in a short lifetime. He wondered how they had grown. Was Gabriel still full of golden curls? Did Castiel still look just like his mother? Like Michael? He had no idea what they liked, what they enjoyed. So, he settled for food offerings: Sera’s best apple pie, a honey-baked ham. He bought a cheap Styrofoam cooler and some ice, prayed it would make the three-hour trip.

Sera saw him off with a long hug, though Chuck’s thoughts whirled too loud for him to really reciprocate. He knew she felt his hesitation, her face scrunching as she pulled away. “Have a good trip,” she said, hugging her arms against the cold, stamping her feet in the snow.

“You, too. Go get warm,” he replied, slipping behind the wheel, tapping the snow from his boots and heading out. His stomach was a mess of nerves as he drove through Harmony, then a sweet little town called Janesville; it was a disturbingly straight shot the whole way back to his past.

He drove around the block five times before he had the courage to pull up on the sidewalk across the street. There were cars lining the road, no doubt extended family, home for the holidays, eager for food and gifts. Chuck sat in the dwindling warmth of his car, staring at the front door, willing himself to go in. To just get out of the car, grab the stuff, knock on the door. Valerie would be so happy to see him, his boys would run out, wrap their arms around him. they would have the best Christmas tomorrow, reunited at last.

But what if Valerie was not happy to see him? What if his boys did not remember him? What if they already had plans for Christmas Day, no room to accommodate him?

The house looked much the same as it had when they had bought it all those years ago. Chuck remembered carrying Valerie over the threshold, tripping over the front stoop when his arms were laden with their belongings. Having their first dinner on the floor, an overturned cardboard box for a table with a tealight for added romance.

His fingers shook where they gripped car handle, about to pull it open when the house’s front door opened. Chuck immediately ducked below the window, watched as his sons, as tall as him, if not taller appeared, wrapped in scarves and big coats. Gabe had stubble. His little boy. His jaw was covered in a light fuzz, his eyes still golden and round, just like they always were. And Castiel. Basically unrecognizable. He was tall, as tall as his brother, though not quite as broad. He _was_ like Michael, almost exactly. Like a specter, Chuck did a double take. Just like his mother, that intriguing mix of dark hair and blue eyes.

“Valetchka,” he murmured, near silent. She looked tired, gaunt almost. Her skin, once so bright, full of life, was almost grey, even beneath the warm glow of the street lights. Her arm was ensconced in the arm of another. A man. Roughly the same height as her, wiry grey curls sitting tight on his scalp. He had strange, bug-like eyes, and a salt and pepper beard. Chuck couldn’t help the curling of jealousy in the pit of his stomach as the four of them made their way to a beat-up sedan parked haphazardly out front. He watched them the whole way down the street and fought himself not to follow them. He did not want to ruin their Christmas. He should not have even come, how stupid could he have been? Now, Sera was already on her way to her parents’ house, without him. Probably hating him just as much as he hated himself.

He waited until their car had turned at the end of the street before he tucked tail and turned back for home.

***

Marv had managed to pawn half of Valerie’s wedding china on Christmas Eve for a movie theatre gift card and a bit of cash that he used to buy stocking stuffers for the Krushnics. He had no interest in the boys since Gabriel had all but left home and Castiel hardly spoke to him. Marv was happy the deviant had stopped looking him in the eye. The boy’s whole lifestyle made him sick. He sighed heavily. Valerie wanted to have a good Christmas morning and Marv wanted to have a good Christmas night, so he was stuck with the holiday shopping.

He added a gift set with a bottle of Johnny Labinski and two rocks glasses to the cart, took note of the little wreath draped over the logo. He gave the kids at the front of the store a dollar to wrap the gift set, read their bubble letter sign: _Help Send Us To Chicago!_ He doubted his dollar would help, but the lady supervising the kids gave him a look when he did not immediately cough up his cash.

His sedan wheezed to life in the parking lot, it needed to be scrapped two years before, but Marv wouldn’t replace it until it stopped running altogether. Valerie complained that the fumes gave her a headache, so he made sure to park it out on the street in front of the house, flipped the neighbors the bird when they gave him disgusted looks for the chipped siding and leaking muffler. If they had such a problem with his car, they could call the cops and he would tell them how Mr. Baker left his sprinklers on and flooded the storm drains. Marv scoffed, imagining Mr. Baker locked up for flooding the street. Mrs. Baker might like some company on those cold winter nights without her husband.

The entire shopping fit in one thin plastic bag that Marv sat at the kitchen table. Valerie did not holler at him upon entry into the house, so he figured she was passed out somewhere. He did not bother to be quiet as he fixed himself a sandwich, then trudged upstairs to Castiel’s room. A quick peek proved he was not home, the little shit liked to stay out till all hours, Marv turned to go find Valerie, maybe start Christmas early, when his ears pricked at the sound of running water. Marv smirked, and beat on the bathroom door, heard Valerie shriek, “Marv?!” and he smiled wider. He tried the handle, but the door did not give. “Marv! Is that you?!” she sounded panicked, but her words were slow to form; she was at least tipsy. 

“Open the door, Val. Lemme in.” He heard her let out a heavy sigh over the running water and waited for the shower door to slide open, expectation warming his blood.

“I’m almost done. Did you finish shopping?”

“Yeah, let me in, Val. I want to see you.” The water stopped, and Marv placed his other hand on the door, leaned his weight into it, “Come on, got a surprise for us.” She was running the sink, instead of rising to his bait and his smile dropped.

“Val –”

“I will _be out in a minute, Marv. Jesus,_ ” she seethed out.

“Fuck you, Val! Don’t be like that,” he spat back at her, throwing a frustrated fist against the door, reveling in her muffled yelp, turned and stomped down the stairs just to make the house shake around her.

The boys finally showed their sorry faces late that afternoon. Marv was hoping to see a matinee, save the rest of the gift card for himself, as if his luck was that good. They took off up the stairs before he could open his mouth and he heard their doors slam in near-tandem. The bathroom door finally opened, and Valerie came downstairs to plant a kiss on his cheek. He waved to the bag on the counter and told her she could fill the stockings herself for keeping him waiting. She did not seem to mind the task and her indifference ate him up inside.

“Call your sons down” he teased, a sing-song lilt to his words, “I got a surprise…”

“You know they don’t like your ‘surprises’, Marv,” she said wearily. He did not like her sass today.

“It’s Christmas Eve, Val. Humor me,” he demanded, a fire lighting his gaze.

It took another hour to coax the boys from their rooms and Marv swore that if not for the holidays, he might strangle them both in their sleep. Gabriel, the little shit, insisted on picking the movie. Said he wouldn’t go otherwise, and Valerie was staring on the waterworks and _Jesus, could he just get a break_.

“Fine! _Fine!_ Get your shit together and let’s go.”

It was probably for the best that Marv did not see the smirk shared between the boys, the little high-five they exchanged as they put on their winter coats. Gabriel knew Castiel wanted to see the new _Star Wars_ film since the previews came out the year before, and he would do anything to put a smile on that kid’s face.

***

Chuck drove due east to Milwaukee before the tears swimming around his eyes made it impossible to see the road signs. He had meant to go south back home, back to Sera maybe, but he had an overwhelming desire to take the long way, hug lake Michigan.

He pulled into a gas station parking lot, the car had dinged its indicator light several miles back, and Chuck was relieved to stop, did not know how badly he needed to rest. He was suddenly bone-tired and slumped down into the seat, pulled the lever to lay back a bit. Chuck curled into the narrow space, knees warring with the steering wheel, tried to make himself small. He was shaking, and he needed something: a drink or a pill maybe. His palms were sweating, and he nearly gave up trying to get his phone from the pocket of his slacks. He dressed up to see his family, trimmed his beard, wore the suit he kept for business meetings, the jacket folded neatly in the passenger seat, three blue envelopes tucked into the breast pocket.

He felt like a damn fool. He hadn’t seen Valerie for _thirteen years_ . They had only been together for eight. Chuck was struck dumb by the math. How could so little time amount to so much history? He cried, openly sobbed at the realization. He ruined his shirt sleeve wiping his nose. He was embarrassed, ashamed, and thirsty, too. It scared him how much he _wanted_ to drink. He hadn’t felt the pull for _months_ , not even spilling his guts out on Sera’s couch.

Chuck took a deep breath, held it, and released it into the cooling car. The promise of snow hung in the air and the people that trotted into the station to buy groceries and cheap coffee were bundled up tight. Chuck’s own winter coat lay across the back seat, shed for the journey. He watched a man pumping gas into a huge truck, set high up off the pavement, and a little girl clutching a steaming cup between mittened hands. Chuck was still keyed up, but he managed to get his cell phone out his pocket and dialed Sonny. He answered on the first ring

“Hey, brother,” came Sonny’s cheerful greeting, there was a commotion on his end of the line, and Chuck nearly hung up, did not want to intrude on Sonny’s holiday plans. he had already ruined Sera’s. “Hang on, just a sec…gotta get up to the office,” Sonny explained, and it kept Chuck on the line listening to his steady footfalls landing on wooden stairs.

Sonny was a pillar of the community, as cliché as it sounded. He had been in a gang when he was younger and landed himself in jail for fifteen years before he turned his life around. He still ran AA meetings from the Salvation Army’s basement chapel, even after all those years, and he ran Sonny’s Home for Boys a few miles outside of the city where he clothed, housed, fed, and mentored at-risk boys ages four to eighteen. He received money from the state to ensure the well-being of his charges and took their care very seriously. Sonny looked a lot tougher than he was, and his boys looked up to him as the father many of them no longer had.

Chuck was immensely grateful that Sonny had taken an interest in him, sent Sera his way. Supported him. Chuck removed the coin he kept in his pocket with his phone, fingered the triangle engraved into its face and traced the V in the center – five years of sobriety and Sonny had been with him every step of the way. Chuck turned the coin in his fingers as a door opened and latched closed on the other end of the line. Chuck took a moment to recite the prayer on the flip side:

_God grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change, Courage to change the things I can, and Wisdom to know the difference._

“Now, then,” Sonny said on a sigh, “what’s up?”

“I need a drink.”

It was not how he had planned to start the conversation, but Chuck was relieved when Sonny listened to the whole story, commended him on his courage to call and never hung up as he made the hour-long drive up for coffee on the Lake. Sonny invited him back to the boys’ home for Christmas day and Chuck was happy to follow Sonny back down to the city.

They stopped along the way when Chuck called to ask how many boys Sonny had at the moment, and they spent another two hours at the Spring Hill Mall. Chuck felt a little lighter as he purchased the gifts at the top of each of Sonny’s boys’ Christmas lists, splurged on department store gift wrapping.

They pulled into the gravel drive at the Home feeling like a couple of jolly old elves, just in time for Christmas Eve dinner. Sera’s pie and Chuck’s ham added to the offerings. Some of the older boys helped with dinner and their labors were reflected in each dish. Chuck was grateful to be surrounded by their rambunctious energy, happy for the pleasant distraction of their bickering over seconds and who would get up for more juice.

Sonny sent all his boys to bed early and made up the guest room for Chuck. The two men carefully brought in the shiny wrapped gifts and stacked them neatly around the big tree that occupied the wide living room. Chuck had picked up several smaller gifts and added them to each boys’ stocking alongside more practical items - shaving cream, toothpaste and pens - and felt his heart give a little tug.

Chuck woke to the peeling laughter of children, eyes bright and wide the following morning and watched as they unwrapped their presents, sipping coffee and sharing smiles with them all. The boys said it was their best Christmas ever, and while Chuck mourned the loss of his family, he was warmed by the joy of the season.

***

Adler University’s Director of Relations had called Flying Wiccan Press after the holidays, to see if _New York Times_ bestselling author, Carver Edlund would be interested in speaking to their graduating class. Sera keep her cool during the conference call but shared an indulgent smile with her assistant, who was writing down dates and times and expected crowd sizes. As soon as the call disconnected, they burst into fits of laughter, no way was Chuck doing _that_.

Sera breezed into their apartment that evening to an aproned Chuck, humming dad rock and stirring a pot of soup. “You’ll never believe who called,” she had said and relayed the request with a mirthful smirk. Chuck set the spoon on its rest and turned to her with a bright smile.

“Sure.”

“I know ri…wait? _Really_?”

“I think it’s time I come out of hiding. See the world, give back. I think it’ll be good for me.”

Sera picked her jaw up from the floor and gave him a wide-eyed smile. “Yeah, Chuck. Yes. I’ll give them a callback.”


	15. Swan Song

Chuck had used  _ Supernatural _ to process the bulk of his grief, each new story exploring a different demon, ghost, monster that Chuck himself battled. His protagonists were two young brothers, thrust into a life they had not chosen for themselves, forced to do the best they could, with what they had. Chuck liked to take things from them, throw them off their game, tip the scales to see just how resilient they truly were.

In the end, the brothers surprised him. They saved the world. Beat the devil with the help of an angelic powerhouse lifted right from his own flesh and blood. He created them all, watched them grow and survive, flourish into men who were not without their own demons, but who, in the end, chose family over everything.

“They saved the world this morning,” Chuck said when Sera dragged herself out of bed to make a pot of coffee. Chuck had been up most of the night, eager to see his boys through their battle.

“Who’s that,” Sera asked through a yawn, then turned to Chuck at the dining room table, noticing his laptop, “Oh, your boys?”

“Yeah. It’s done. All’s left is the happily ever after.”

Sera looked directly into Chuck’s eyes then, tried to gauge his mood, but found nothing but pride, happiness, maybe something bittersweet, but overall Chuck looked…done. Complete. “I can’t wait to read it,” she said.

Chuck cradled his hands at his chest, his face breaking into a peaceful smile, “It’s their Swan Song.”

***

Valerie sat at the dinner table, biting at the skin around her nails, watching Marv snore in Chuck’s chair. It was a rare day, a day in which she was still sober in the early afternoon. From her nervous perch, she surveyed the home she had bought, built and wrecked in the twenty-two years she had lived in it. Nearly half her life spent slowly decaying in tandem with those same walls.

Marv snorted in his sleep, hacked up something in his throat and Valerie felt sick. She cradled her bruised cheek, a badge of dishonor, a near-constant reminder of what happened if she or her boys stood up to Marv in one of his drunken rages. The fear welled inside her like a preparatory breath, except that she couldn’t breathe.

She lit a cigarette on her way to the car, hands shaking with the beginnings of withdrawal. Her head was constantly splitting in two, without the drink that soothed the aches, the pain that raged within her. Prodding and poking around in that pain just made it worse. Valerie still couldn’t face it. So, she wouldn’t.

She found herself driving to Woodman’s as if on instinct. Without alcohol clouding her thoughts and actions, outside the confines of those toxic walls, Valerie was able to think rationally. They needed groceries. She couldn’t remember the last meal they had all sat together to enjoy. In fact, she was almost certain there hadn’t been a single occasion since Marv arrived. She whipped around the store, her body aching but energized,  _ hers. _ She plucked a loaf with the seeded crust for Castiel, no longer knowing if he still loved them, cinnamon raisin bagels for Gabriel (and a bumper pack of chocolate pudding cups). She picked fresh meat from the butcher counter, lean cuts she suddenly wanted to freeze, keep track of, make into bulk meals for Marv to take to work with him for lunch. It would do him good to lay off the drive-thru during his breaks.

Fresh fruits and vegetables, whole wheat pasta and brown rice, the ground coffee that made her sigh in pleasure when she squeezed the bag. She picked up new cleaning products to replace the dusty ones that littered her cupboards, treated herself to a new shampoo that smelled of coconuts and promised her endless shine. As she wandered between the aisles, something returned to her, a feeling she had long forgotten. Purpose. Just like that, she was a mother again, thinking more than ten minutes into the future for her next fix. She thought of school lunches and dinners the boys might like to cook together, she bought extra in case their friends wanted to come over, too. She smiled fondly at a box of Raisin Bran, placing it lovingly atop her stash.

Life tingling at her fingertips, shivering up the back of her head, she pushed her cart to the cashier with a content smile, one that made the muscles in her cheeks ache. Surely, she had smiled recently?

With fingers made steady by her sudden metamorphosis, Valerie slipped her card into the machine and waited patiently for her receipt. She would keep it in a journal she did not have yet, mark it as the day she pulled herself out of a hell of her own making.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the cashier said, face dotted with pimples, “your card’s been declined. Would you like to try again?”

And just like that, the delicate balance tipped against Valerie once again. Her hands shook, the headache returned, “Silly me, I must’ve… put in the wrong PIN,” she excused, trying again. That same beep, the same look on the cashier’s pock-marked face. Valerie backed up, jittering hands held up in surrender, mumbling stunted apologies, leaving her cart and her bagged groceries behind to stumble out of the doors before the tears overwhelmed her.

She lit another cigarette on the way home, the light that had bubbled brightly in her fading with each muttered curse. Marv must’ve forgotten to transfer the funds over from her savings. It was all totally rational, she would return and pay for the groceries in twenty minutes, maximum. The impromptu fresh start was not over quite yet. She clung to it with both hands as she pulled up to the sidewalk, making a beeline for the laptop that spent most of its time on the dinner table. She would check the funds, move some things around, remind Marv to keep on top of it as he had always promised her.

Her banking password had always been the license plate that little red corvette they had driven on their honeymoon, she had never changed it. Chuck had always had a sentimental streak a mile wide. A frown tugged at her brow, red letters on the screen informing her that her password was incorrect. That couldn’t be. Perhaps she had typed it wrong. Three more times she attempted before she was locked out of her account. She called Marv, still dozing a few feet from her, stalking over to him, laptop in hand when it was clear he was not going to answer.

“ _ Hey _ !” she barked, thrilling just a little as he started with a snort, “Why can’t I get into my banking?”

“What do you want with that?” Marv asked, shaking his lethargy from his shoulders, “I told you I’m taking care of everything.”

There was an edge to his voice she did not like. Not one bit.

“What’s going on?” she ground, as Marv’s face reddened, “What aren’t you telling me?”

His eyes bugged in that dangerous way he had, a snarl forming perfectly on his lips, “What have I got to do to make you trust me, huh? Always assuming the worst, I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve-”

“I want to know why I couldn’t pay for my groceries just now, and why I cannot now get into my online banking to check my accounts,” Valerie said, leveling him with a glare.

Marv’s lips curled, his eyes darting away, and Valerie knew. She should’ve seen it coming.

“How could you?” she whispered, “I trusted you-”

“Val, it’s not a big deal… I’m gonna get it all back-”

“ _ All?  _ Marv, you better tell me right now what the _ fuck i _ s going on. Why did you change the password?”

“It wasn't my fault,” Marv stood, voice rising with him, “They  _ told me _ they were good investments-”

“ _ That’s not your money, Marv _ !” Valerie yelled over him, “What investments?”

“I was just trying to take care of you and your family since you’re clearly incapable! Sorry for trying to provide for you!”

“You have a  _ job _ , Marv, did you ever think of playing with  _ that _ money instead? I can’t fucking believe this is happening,” Valerie scoffed, any semblance of a clean slate muddied by her sudden desperation for the bottle. She stooped to the bottom of the bookcase and grabbed a bottle of Red Label, turning slowly when the silence grew a little too oppressive.

“Baby,” Marv said, saccharine and sickening. Valerie shoved at the arms that stretched towards her, rage whitening her knuckles around the neck of the bottle.

“You have a job, right?” she said slowly, “Tell me that wasn't a lie, I swear to  _ God.” _

Marv’s mouth flapped open and closed on a lie that never came. Valerie hurled the bottle in her hand at the wall, the instant gratification of its destruction melting away as soon as it had come. She heard footsteps on the stairs, but she couldn’t stop.

“ _ You stole from me, my boys _ !” she roared, “ _ How could you, you sack of shit?” _

She moved into the kitchen, throwing the cupboards open. The first plate smashing against the wall fueled the fire, and she did it again and again, “Everything I worked for, everything I had, it’s all gone?!  _ All _ of it?  _ And you let me believe you were taking care of things _ ?! Of my family?”

“ _ You don’t think that son-of-a-bitch Gabriel doesn’t steal from me _ ?!” Marv cried, as her sons appeared in the doorway.

“The  _ fuck? _ ” Gabriel bit, holding his brother back as he stalked towards Marv, squaring his shoulders. Valerie held her breath, hands shaking as the plates she held fell to her feet, shards scattering across the linoleum.

“You heard me,” Marv’s retort fell short, the shaking in his voice giving him away. Gabriel did not waste a beat.

“And what is it that I’m meant to have stolen from you, you pathetic worm? You ain’t got nothing that wasn't ours first. You can’t  _ fix _ this, you don’t know how, you don’t know  _ anything _ , you fucking scum-”

Marv looked frightened as he lashed out at her son. Stared at his hands like it was their fault. Gabriel looked ready to hit back, but Castiel’s hand on his shoulder held him back. Valerie wished he’d done it. Wished she could do it. She was fit to explode.

“Who the _ fuck  _ do you think you are?” she screamed as Gabriel ferried Castiel out of the front door, her baby blue’s eyes the last thing she saw before they were gone.

Marv spilled over with emotion, collapsing, spineless to the floor, a sobbing mess. His hands pulling at his curls, pounding on the ground, he choked on his apologies, his excuses. And Valerie stood in the kitchen, surrounded by shattered plates and felt nothing but nausea.

“Get out of here,” she spat, “I can’t fucking stand the sight of you.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t control myself, Valerie please, forgive me, Val, baby,” he babbled, crawling towards her like a pathetic beetle.

“Get out!” she screamed, her voice breaking, tears burning at her eyes. All of it gone. All of it. He had robbed her blind.

And as he scuttled upstairs, sniveling and whining, Valerie sank to the floor, whiskey soaking into her clothes. There was always another bottle. She reached for it, whatever it was, and suddenly it was business as usual. Valerie, entirely alone, surrounded by destruction, drinking herself to oblivion. She didn’t know that her sons were about to make the worst decision of their young lives.

***

Marv jolted awake from the armchair, choking on his own blood. His nose was killing him. He hadn't been able to get the swelling to go down or the bleeding to stop no matter how far back he tilted his head. He had dozed off after Castiel had been arrested, stormed out, broken his nose. Good fucking riddance to him. He and Valerie had exchanged some heated words, she did not like him threatening her boys, but he was not the one who had stolen a car, was he? She had eventually stumbled off to bed upstairs, said they would figure it out in the morning. Like she would remember anything when she woke up.

There was movement from the large front window, and Marv grabbed his glass of whiskey, stumbled to the front door. “What the hell are you doing here?” he growled from the doorway, dressing gown open to reveal his boxer shorts. He snorted a bit, felt something else in his nose crack open, blood trickling down his lip. Castiel stood just outside of the fence, and Marv felt smug satisfaction that he was not the only one hurting. That bruise across Castiel’s jaw looked like it hurt about as much as Marv’s own nose. Served the little shit right.

“I don’t know what I’m… I- “

“You better find somewhere better to be, Castiel,” Marv warned. He pulled his phone from his robe, dialed 911 and tilted the screen toward Valerie’s youngest. “I mean it.” Castiel deflated then threw his hands into the air; he was always so dramatic. Typical of his sort. Marv rolled his eyes, he had the upper hand here after all, “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but your mom kicked you outta here, right?” The boy looked as if he might actually cry and Marv thrilled.

“Please, Marv- “

“Oh, so you do got manners,” Marv sneered, pleased as punch to hear him beg, tempted to string it out just a little longer, but he had better things to be doing, “little late for ‘please’, son.”

Castiel made to grab the gate latch, and Marv took another step closer to him, lifting his finger to the phone screen. Castiel backed off again. Marv was loving the power he held. His face hardened, “Figure it out, Castiel, you ain’t a kid no more, ain’t that what you keep tellin’ us?” Castiel continued to stare, but backed away from the gate, took off down the road. Marv slammed the door hoped it woke up Valerie.

***

Valerie’s eyes peeled open in the early morning light, her entire body aching in a way completely alien to the punishment of alcohol. She did not remember falling asleep, just curling around her sons’ sweaters, too small for either of them. She said she had taken them to the thrift store, but she could not bear to part with them. They were tear-stained now, smelled of her sour saliva.

She wondered where Castiel had gone. Who he had chosen to flee to. With any luck, he was just down the street, would come back to her so she could apologize, make it up to him. they would go visit Gabriel together, maybe. Be a family again. How could it be, her son in jail? It hadn’t truly sunk in that she wouldn’t get to see him every day, even the scant minutes she’d taken for granted all these years.

Her fists tightened in the sweaters gathered at her chest. No. No, Castiel would never forgive her now. No matter that she kicked him out for his own good, in the heat of that suffocating moment. She had needed the space to breathe, to wrap her mind around what exactly had happened, what exactly had torn her family apart in the space of twenty-four hours. Marv would never have stopped, she knew that. He was not afraid of Castiel like he was of Gabe. Had always seen her youngest son as  _ less, _ on account of who he was. She was supposed to protect him, she was supposed to be on his side. And she had stalled. She had hesitated.

Something fluttered across the bed in a strong breeze from the open window. A bird was singing somewhere out there, a joyful melody, as she stretched out with a frown, inspecting the piece of paper as it fluttered across her legs.

_ Capitol Lakes _

The familiar burn of tears was hot in her throat, but nothing alleviated the ache. She was all out of tears to shed. She was sick and tired of feeling sick and tired. Of feeling like she had no control, no say in her own life. She palmed at the leaflet lying Lord knew where for the last four years, skipped over the pictures and the course details, the words swimming in her vision; she would figure it out. Those checks, the ongoing mysterious lifeline, had continued to come in monthly for years, she would have something to pay the bills with, and if not… well, joke was on her. She could only say she tried.

There were voices from out on the lawn, accompanying the bird singing outside. Valerie could almost fool herself into believing that Castiel had come back. She smiled sadly, probably just Jehovah's Witnesses. She pulled her phone from the side table, dialed the number with unsteady fingers, gathering her sons’ sweaters beneath her nose as the dial tone rang once, twice, three times.

“Capitol Lakes, Becky speaking, how can I help you today?”

The front door slammed harshly, shaking the house. Valerie took a deep breath, “I want to check myself in. Please.”

Hauling her suitcase out of the closet was hard to do without arousing suspicion, which followed quickly; footsteps lumbering on the stairs. Valerie steeled herself.

Marv poked his head in the door, “Val?”

She closed her eyes,  _ breathe in for four, out for four. _

“Who was that outside?” she asked, voice shockingly calm.

“Oh,” Marv chuckled, his voice stuffed up from his broken nose, “Door salesman. Selling doors. Imagine.”

He shuffled farther into the room, stopping dead at the sight of her suitcase, butterflied on the duvet.

“Are you going somewhere?”

Valerie clenched her jaw, keeping her words tucked safely behind her teeth, as she moved towards her drawers, up-ending them into her case, one by one. A veritable mountain of her life. Her favorite of Chuck’s cardigans had already been folded lovingly at the bottom.

“Valerie?” Ridiculous as his voice sounded, there was an edge to it now, “Answer me.”

“Fine,” Valerie sighed, so sick of fighting, her voice tired of screaming, “I’m leaving. For Capitol Lakes.”

“Capitol Lakes? That some sort of resort?”

“Rehab,” Valerie said, calmer than she felt, vibrating on the inside, lungs two sizes too small.

Marv’s laugh, unpleasant at the best of times, turned hideous, “You can’t be serious.”

Valerie pinned her lips tight, ducking past him to the bathroom, gathering armfuls of toiletries, bumping into him on her way back.

“You’re serious,” he mocked at her back, following her back and forth.

“Yes,” she sighed, wrapping up her framed photos in her son’s sweaters.

“What about me?” Marv whined as she battled with the zip, “Don’t I get a say?”

She knew the stare she leveled him with had the power to topple grown men; she had learned it from the best, after all. Her suitcase was a dead weight, but she refused to let it drown her as she hauled it out of the room, down the stairs, powered by how right her decision felt. It loomed, daunting, but it welcomed her. She barrelled right for it, Marv following her the whole way.

She ducked into the kitchen, grabbed a pen and a Biggerson’s napkin, scrawling a note should her baby blue ever come home. She did not tell him where she was, did not want him coming to visit her. Just that it was for the best. And it was.

“Valerie!” Marv pleaded, pathetic, “This is ridiculous, you don’t need  _ rehab _ .”

She took the bait. Whirled around, dropping her suitcase with a thump to the hallway floor to point crudely in his face,  _ years _ of swallowing her feelings welling inside, burning lava, “You don’t get to tell me what I need, Marv. I have a problem. I’m going to get better. For my boys. For me. I couldn’t give two shits if you think it’s a good idea or not, I don’t care what you think about  _ anything.  _ You lost that right the day you decided to take everything from me.” A car horn sounded outside. Her taxi.

“Where am I going to go?” Marv cried, grabbing at her wrist, “What am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t give a flying fuck, Marv,” she spat venomously, ripping her hand from his clammy grasp, “you can rot in hell for all I care.”

She gathered her belongings, slamming the door behind her for good measure.


	16. Fresh Start

_Epilogue_

Marv stayed in the house for three weeks until his money dried up and some social worker came sniffing around asking about Castiel. Like he cared. He packed everything that Valerie did not take with her and made trips out to his wheezing car. Marv leaned against the driver side door and stared at the dilapidated house with its poking fence and crumbling steps, disgusted that he had wasted so much of his time there.

He hauled open the car door, slammed it shut and started the car, the engine turning over twice before rumbling to life. He made to pull away from the curb, but the tires were suddenly uneven, the car listing to the right. Marv cut the engine, opened the door, and jogged around to the passenger side. He cursed so loudly, Mrs. Baker showed up on her porch to bear witness.

There, halfway in the middle of the street, stood Marv with two slashed tires and ‘FUCK YOU’ etched deep into side paneling.

***

The taxi dropped Valerie off in front of the tall brick building in Madison. She stuffed a handful of bills into the driver’s smooth palm, counting out her change meticulously. Emptying out the account before she left was frightening, if not for the full stop it stamped on her brash decision, then in the pitiful amount that was left. All she had in the world.

She approached the front desk with shaky resolve, but stood her ground against the swirling anxiety, plastering a confident smile to her lips. They took a detailed inventory of everything she had brought with her, implored her to answer their questions honestly, claimed it was a place of no judgment. A place of healing.

When did she last use? Early this morning, around three, she supposed.

When did she first start using? She couldn’t remember.

How had using impacted her life? She stayed silent for a long time, threading her fingers together, pulling at them. She swallowed hard, forcing her voice brave.

“It’s destroyed me.”

The specialist smiled sadly, taking her hands in his, “We’re going to rebuild you, Valerie, I promise.”

She was taken to her room, for the next six months at least, or so they told her. Painted bright yellow, a double bed with little give to the mattress. She lined up her photos on the shelf above a small writing desk. The first was of her and Chuck on their wedding day, a kiss beneath a rain of confetti she would never forget. The second taken at Michael’s first birthday, blue eyes big and staring at the camera, at her, instead of the cake in front of him. The third Gabriel and Castiel, arms around one another, ice cream down to their chins. The final frame she dragged her hand down, choking back the tears depicted all five of them. The only full family photo they had ever had taken. She pressed kisses to each of her sons’ faces.

“For you,” she whispered to each of them, eyes finally landing on her own face, “All of it, for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for taking the time to read, comment, and give us kudos. It means the world and keeps us writing.
> 
> Here are some links to the real places used in this story:  
> [Pope Farm Conservancy](https://www.popefarmconservancy.org/)  
> [Madison Children's Museum](http://madisonchildrensmuseum.org/)  
> [St. Andrew's Episcopal Church](https://www.standrews-madison.org/)  
> [Enchanted Hills Retreat](http://enchantedhillsretreat.com/rooms/lower-camp/)  
> [Gus's Diner](http://gussdiner.com/)  
> 


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